^^^i^^^^SlilliSiiilpiiii^^^^ 


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THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 


GIFT  OF 

Mrs.  George  Papashvily 


MACMILLAN'S     STANDARD     LIBRARY 


FOES    IN   LAW 


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FOES  IN  LAW 


RHODA   BROUGHTON 

Author  cf  "  Cometh  up  as  a  Flower,"  "  Good-bye,  Sweetheart/ 
ttCt%  etc* 


**God  be  with  700;  let  us  meet  m  little  aa  we  ceaT 


NEW  YORK 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP 

PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1900, 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY. 


Set  up  and  electrotyped.     Publbhed  August,  1900.     Reprinted 
March,  1901 ;  April,  1906. 
Special  edition,  in  paper  coren.  May,  1905. 


VorfoootJ  19re<s : 
Berwick  &  Smith  Co.,  Norwood,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


GIFT 


1>Z7s 


f- 


FOES  IN  LAW 


CHAPTER  I 

The  morning-room  is  comfortable,  but  so  are 
not  its  occupants — only  two — of  whom  the  one 
has  within  the  last  five  minutes  sprung  a  mine  upon 
the  other.  It  must  have  been  inside  this  small 
time-limit  since  the  clock  on  the  narrow  eighteenth- 
century  mantelpiece  had  struck  the  half-hour,  while 
the  footmen  were  carrying  in  the  last  lamp  and 
dropping  the  last  curtain.  This  had  happened  be- 
fore the  catastrophe,  and  the  index  is  now  only  mid- 
way between  the  figures  that  indicate  respectively 
five  and  twenty  and  twenty  to  six.  Yet  within  that 
interval  the  relations  between  the  two  persons,  late- 
ly lounging  in  the  comfortable  ease  of  established 
intimacy  in  their  several  arm-chairs,  has  under- 
gone an  earthquake  change.  She  will  never  forget 
that,  instead  of  a  cup  of  tea,  he  has  asked  her  for 
herself;  and  he  will  probably  always  remember  that 
she  has  kindly,  and  not  very  firmly,  declined.  He 
has  risen,  and  is  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 
sadly  and  absently  parting  his  clerical  coat-tails 
with  an  unconscious  aspiration  after  warmth  of 
some  kind,  if  not  of  the  particular  quality  he  has 
demanded. 
The  girl  is  looking  at  him  with  a  troubled,  but  not 


032 


i  FOES   IN   LAW 

quite  ungratified  astonishment;  the  puppy  is  finish- 
ing the  bark  which  the  young  man's  emotionally 
raised  tones  had  started;  and  the  parrot  is  laughing 
cynically.  Though  shrouded  for  the  night,  and 
thus  reduced  to  the  mere  evidence  of  his  ears,  he 
knows  what  has  happened. 

"  I  was  never  so  surprised  in  my  Hfe." 

"Were  not  you?" 

"  We  were  talking  of — what?  " — seeking  to  re- 
cover the  penultimate  topic  which  now  looks  blue 
with  distance — "  of  the  Church  Congress,  and  sud- 
denly, without  any  warning,  you  were  in  the  middle 
of  this." 

"  Yes." 

"  I  was  never  so  surprised  in  my  life."  The 
repetition  is  bald,  and  she  feels  it  so;  yet  only  re- 
iteration can  relieve  her.  "  I  feel  as  if  it  must  be, 
somehow,  my  fault." 

He  shakes  his  head,  but  not  with  emphasis. 

"  I  never  was  so  surpr — r-  " 

Perhaps  he  can't  bear  the  third  repetition  of  her 
phrase;  for  he  breaks  into,  though  only  to  appro- 
priate, it. 

"  I  was  surprised  too." 

Her  fair  eyebrows,  darker  only  by  a  shade  than 
her  blonde  hair,  mount  from  straight  lines  into 
arches. 

*' Surprised!    Your' 

"  Yes,  at  my  own  want  of  self-control." 

"  It  was  not  a  new  idea,  then?  "  she  asks,  with  a 
hesitating  curiosity.  "  You  had  wanted  to  say  it 
before?  " 

**  Hundreds  of  times." 

"How  very  odd!" 


FOES   IN    LAW  3 

"  I  do  not  quite  see  where  the  eccentricity  comes 
in." 

A  note  of  soreness  bids  her  bridle  her  amaze- 
ment; and  a  very  kind  heart  dictates  an  explaining 
of  it  away. 

"I  should  have  as  little  suspected  my  real 
brother.    We  have  always  been  like  bro " 

"  Do  not  descend  to  such  a  platitude,"  he  says  ir- 
ritably. "As  long  as  man  is  man,  and  woman, 
woman,  there  will  never  be  any  brothers  and  sisters 
except  by  blood." 

This  dogma  is  uttered  as  authoritatively  as  if  it 
had  been  launched  from  the  pulpit  under  which  his 
hearer  weekly  sits;  but  clerical  thunderbolts  have 
proverbially  lost  some  of  their  old  splitting  and 
searing  power,  and  it  is  not  without  spirit  that  she 
rejoins — 

"  But  we  have  always  been  Randal  and  Lettice; 
since  the  old  days  when  I  dug  in  the  sands  with  you 
at  Margate,  we  have  always  been  Randal  and  Let- 
tice." 

"  I  fail  to  see  what  bearing  that  has  upon  the  fact 
of  my  love  for  you." 

"  And  though,  of  course,  there  was  a  gap  in  our 
relations,  while  you  were  at  Eton  and  Oxford,  yet 
when  you  took  the  curacy  here  we  seemed  to  pick 
up  our  old  threads  just  where  we  had  dropped 
them." 

*'  Seemed  to  you,  perhaps." 

"  I  must  have  been  obtuse,  but  I  give  you  my 
word  of  honour  I  had  not  the  least  suspicion.  I 
wish  " — with  a  renewal  of  her  former  half-fasci- 
nated curiosity — "  that  you  would  give  me  an  idea 
when  this — this  notion  began  to  enter  your  head." 


4  FOES   IN    LAW 

His  eyes  flash  angrily.  "  If  your  only  wish  is  to 
'  peep  and  botanize  '  over  my  sufferings,  I  do  not 
see  what  end  is  gained  by  my  staying  longer." 

As  he  speaks  he  sends  a  glance  through  the  not 
particularly  well-lit  room  towards  the  chair  where 
he  had  laid  his  hat  and  stick;  but  her  voice,  nearly 
as  indignant  as  his  own,  and  her  candid  eyes  arrest 
his  further  action. 

"  I  have  not  the  least  wish  to  '  peep  and  botanize  * 
over  your  sufferings  " — the  veiled  parrot  chuckles, 
pleased  at  the  phrase — "  but  you  have  taken  my 
breath  away;  and  it  would  be  nonsense  to  pretend 
that  you  have  not." 

"  If  it  is  only  the  novelty  of  the  idea  " — his  eye 
releasing  his  hat,  and  with  an  obvious  postpone- 
ment of  the  intention  of  departure — "  you  would 
soon  get  used  to  that." 

"  I  do  not  think  so." 

But  there  is  no  great  certainty  in  her  voice,  while 
her  look  wanders  irresolutely  from  the  Hoppner  an- 
cestress let  into  the  panel  over  the  fireplace  to  the 
Herodias  which  for  the  last  two  hundred  years  has 
brazenly  announced  itself  as  a  Leonardo. 

He  drops  his  coat-tails,  and  makes  a  forward  step 
off  the  hearthrug. 

"  Where  there  is  already  perfect  sympathy " 

"  Perfect — no." 

He  reshapes  his  plea.  "  When  two  people  have 
as  much  in  common  as  you  and  I — you  will  not,  I 
suppose,  deny  that  we  have  a  good  deal  in  com- 
mon?" 

**  No,  oh  no;  indeed  we  have!  " 

"Since  I  came  I  have  even  been  an  important 
factor  in  your  life?" 


FOES   IN    LAW  5 

"  I  should  be  most  ungrateful  to  deny  it." 

"  We  each  supplement  the  other  " — with  grow- 
ing enthusiasm,  and  accompanying  the  statement 
by  a  second  step  forward;  the  third  will  land  him  at 
her  side — "  each  supplying  what  the  other  lacks. 
You  would  give  me  ballast.  I  am  conscious  of  my 
deficiency  in  it;  my  action  to-day  proves,  as  I  told 
you  just  now,  my  want  of  self-control  " — he  lingers 
for  a  moment  over  this  confession  of  his  frailties,  as 
if  it  were  not  wholly  disagreeable  to  him — "  while 

I "  He  pauses,  as  if  not  quite  sure  how  to  word 

the  coming  phrase.  **  You  will  not  misunderstand 
me  when  I  say  that  you  are  not  pre-eminently  im- 
aginative." 

**  I  know  I  am  not." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  might  sometimes  give  your 
thoughts  the  wings  they  lack." 

He  throws  his  shoulders  back  and  his  head 
up. 

She  looks  down,  too  unaffectedly  humble  to  re- 
sent his  estimate  of  the  amount  possessed  by  her  of 
intellect's  highest  quality,  but  there  is  certainty  in 
the  shake  of  her  flaxen  head. 

"  All  that  is  not  enough." 

"Enough!"  The  impetus  of  the  protest  sends 
him  over  the  yard  that  parts  them  with  a  sudden- 
ness that  makes  her  jump.  "  Do  you  suppose  that 
that  is  all?" 

His  voice  goes  up  at  the  last  word  with  an  accent 
of  pregnant  scorn;  and  once  again  the  puppy  barks, 
jumping  down  this  time  off  Lettice's  lap  to  do  it 
better.  The  lover's  foot  sketches  a  movement  to- 
wards kicking  the  little  woolly  interruption  aside; 
but  he  recollects  himself  in  time,  and  goes  on  as  if 


6  FOES   IN   LAW 

he  were  not  aware  of  the  second  that  is  being  sung 
to  his  love-chant. 

**  It  is  always  when  one  needs  it  most  that  the 
power  of  expression  fails  one.  But  if  I  could  make 
you  understand;  if  I  were  not  daunted  by  your 
coldness — it  is  a  beautiful  thing  in  its  way,  but  I 
have  often  felt  it  like  a  wall  of  snow  between  us — I 
could  tell  you " 

He  stops,  struggling  with  a  real  difficulty  in  ut- 
terance. 

"  What  could  you  tell  me?  " 

Her  limpid  eyes  are  full  of  a  thrilled  curiosity  as 
she  asks  the  question  with  something  of  the  delight- 
ful guilty  quiver'  of  a  child  peeping  into  a  forbidden 
cupboard.  Considering  her  good  looks  and  her 
twenty-two  years,  the  commonplaces  of  a  declara- 
tion sound  strangely  original  in  her  ears. 

"  I  can  tell  you  this,  that  my  feeling  for  you, 
which  began  by  Hfting,  has  ended  by  lowering  me. 
You  are  blighting  me — blighting  my  work.  You 
must  have  noticed  the  change  from  Sunday  to  Sun- 
day. How  starved  and  halting  my  utterances  have 
become! " 

"  You  are  always  miles  above  the  average!  "  she 
answers,  with  a  sweet  openness  of  commendation 
intended  to  take  any  sting  out  of  the  partial  acqui- 
escence in  his  self-depreciation  which  follows.  "  But 
I  have  noticed  that  of  late  you  have  not  been  quite 
up  to  your  usual  mark.  I  attributed  it  to  the  effects 
of  influenza." 

"  Did  you?  "  he  says,  in  a  wounded  voice  at  the 
prosaic  nature  of  her  explanation.  "  I  had  thought 
that  you  might  have  divined  me  better." 

She  shakes  her  head  apologetically. 


FOES  IN   LAW  7 

"At  first/'  he  pursues  in  a  feverish  egotism  of 
retrospection,  "  nay,  for  many  months  you  were  an 
untold  help  to  me,  an  impetus,  an  impalsion!  The 
knowledge  that  your  serious  eyes  were  upon  me, 
that  your  clear  brain  was  following  me  point  by 
point,  keeping  up  with*  me  when  I  was  painfully 
conscious  of  having  outstripped  all  the  rest  of  the 
congregation '* 

"  I  think  you  are  sometimes  rather  above  their 
heads,"  she  puts  in  gently. 

The  interruption  checks  him  for  a  moment;  then 
he  goes  off  again  at  score. 

''  But  now — now — of  late,  the  sensation  of  your 
nearness  paralyzes  me." 

"  You  ought  not  to  be  aware  that  I  am  there." 

"  I  am  thankful  when  you  are  not,"  retorts 
he,  violently,  smarting  under  the  low-voiced  re- 
buke. *'  A  few  Sundays  ago,  when  your  place 
was  empty " 

"  I  had  a  touch  of  influ "  she  begins,  but 

breaks  off  before  finishing  the  offensive  word. 

"  I  blessed  God  for  it!    I  breathed  freer." 

She  looks  up  with  an  expression  of  half-at- 
tracted, half-repelled  wonder  at  the  clean-shaved, 
finely  cut  face,  quivering  with  nervous  excitement 
above  her,  marvelling  that  her  own  charms,  which 
she  has  always  considered  of  so  jog-trot  and  in- 
effective an  order,  or  of  which,  to  speak  more 
exactly,  she  has  hitherto  thought  so  little  at  all,  can 
have  wrought  such  an  alarming  yet  interesting 
transmogrification  in  the  fellow  sand-digger  of 
seventeen  years  ago,  and  the  platonic  teacher  and 
comrade  of  the  last  twelve  months. 

"  I  am  not  of  the  stuff  of  which  ascetics  are 


8  FOES   IN  LAW 

made,"  he  says,  with  an  erotic  flash  of  his  dark 
eyes  that  renders  the  assertion  almost  superfluous. 
**  With  me,  when  the  heart  is  starved  the  intellect 
declines  too.  I  need  the  blessedness  of  earthly  love 
to  help  me  up  the  path  of  high  endeavour.  Think, 
think  twice  before,  without  any  adequate  reason — 
and  you  have  given  me  no  reason  worth  the  name 
— you  refuse  it  me!  " 

The  stringency  of  his  urging,  the  imperative 
amativeness  of  his  look,  fill  her  with  a  discomfort 
that  has  yet  an  element  of  high  excitement  in  it. 
The  double  feeling  expresses  itself  in  a  slight  push- 
ing back  of  her  chair  to  increase  the  distance  be- 
tween them,  and  a  hesitating  quiver  in  the  voice 
that  repeats  her  refusal. 

"  I  can't  give  you  what  I  have  not  got." 

*'  How  do  you  know  that  you  have  not  got  it?  " 
he  cries,  unconsciously  recovering  the  lost  advan- 
tage of  extreme  proximity,  and  lifting  his  tone 
again  till  the  sleepy  puppy  gives  a  suppressed 
"  WufT!  "  "  How  do  you  know  what  unused  treas- 
ures you  may  have  been  icily  keeping  under  lock 
and  key?  Are  you  quite,  quite  sure  that  from  far, 
far  down  in  your  being  your  heart  is  not  crying  out 
to  mine,  as  mine  is  to  yours?  " 

The  sensation  that  his  eyes  are  literally  boring 
her  through  has  become  so  overpowering  that  she 
jumps  up  from  her  chair,  dropping  from  her  lap  as 
she  does  so  the  forgotten  pet,  who  gives  an  injured 
squeak;  and,  taking  her  lover's  forsaken  place  on 
the  hearthrug,  faces  and  answers  him  with  a  collect- 
edness  that  seems  easier  now  that  he  is  no  longer 
hovering  over  her  like  a  hawk  over  a  mouse. 

"  I  am  quite  sure.'* 


FOES   IN   LAW  9 

"Thank  you!" 

The  gratitude  expressed  has  something  of  the 
ironic  quality  of  the  hawker  whose  challenge  to  buy 
his  wares  has  been  refused,  and  there  is  an  oppres- 
sive silence;  it  might  be  a  final  one,  if  the  woman 
could  leave  the  crisis  to  end  itself,  but  that  is  just 
what  she  cannot  bear  to  do. 

"  You  must  not  think  that  I  under-estimate  what 
you  have  been  to  me,"  she  says,  with  a  thrill  in  her 
voice,  which  might  revive  the  spirits  of  a  less  self- 
confident  person  than  the  one  addressed — "  the 
way  in  which  you  have  enriched  my  life,  by  your 
teaching,  your  books,  your  readings."  She  pauses 
with  a  half-aghast  question  to  herself  as  to  whether 
by  her  present  action  she  is  knocking  on  the  head 
all  the  intellectual  pleasures  to  which  she  alludes. 
"  But  even  if  I  had  for  you  the  sort  of — of  over- 
whelming feeling  that  you  wish,  and  which  I  do  not 
even  understand " 

She  looks  up  at  him  questioningly,  her  cool  fair- 
ness troubled.  He  is  on  the  hearthrug  too  by  this 
time. 

"  If  you  would  let  me,  I  could  make  you  compre- 
hend it." 

His  voice  is  unrecognizable,  and  somehow  her 
hands  have  got  into  his. 

"  I  do  not  want  you  to  try  " — extracting  them, 
but  not  easily.  "  If  you  succeeded — I  do  not  think 
you  would — but  if  you  did  it  would  be  disastrous." 

"  Disastrous?  " 

"  Yes,  disastrous.  I  mean  nothing  could  come  of 
it." 

The  homely  matter-of-factness  of  her  phrase  jars 
upon  him,  and  her  freed  hands  make  him  angry. 


10  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  I  fail  to  follow  you/' 

"  You  are  asking  me  to  marry  you/'  she  says, 
lifting  the  perfect  honesty  of  her  simple  yet  not 
vapid  face  to  his.  "  Well,  I  am  not  going  to 
marry." 

This  time  he  does  really  kick  the  puppy,  though 
not  intentionally,  but  merely  as  a  protest  made  by 
all  his  ireful  muscles  against  her  sentence. 

"  Is  this  a  specimen  of  the  cant  of  the  day?  " 

The  incivility  of  the  phrase  raises  her  colour  and 
sends  up  her  head. 

"  It  is  not  cant.  I  shall  not  marry,  simply  be- 
cause there  is  no  room  for  marriage  in  my  life." 

Her  sudden  gentle  stiffness  warns  him  that  he  has 
exceeded  the  limits  of  ill-temper  allowed  even  to  a 
sufferer  toasting  on  the  gridiron  of  a  refusal. 

"  Then  you  are  going  to  sacrifice  your  whole  life 
to  a  Quixotism?  " 

"  If  you  like  to  call  it  so." 

A  silence  falls;  both  interlocutors  brought  up 
against  a  brick  wall,  while  the  parrot  tells  himself 
in  a  low  voice  the  unintelligible  stories  about  his 
ribald  past,  with  which  he  usually  soothes  his  bed- 
time hour. 

After  a  while  the  girl,  who  has  been  looking 
rather  ruefully  into  the  fire,  says  softly  and  apolo- 
getically— 

"  He  wants  me  far  more  than  you  do." 

"  Do  not  add  insult  to  injury." 

"  But  it  is  true.  You  have  done  without  me  very 
comfortably — well,  then,  very  uncomfortably,  smce 
you  will  have  it  so — for  twenty-six  years,  and  he  has 
never  done  without  me,  and  he  never  shall!  " 

At  the  last  clause  her  voice  sinks;   but  what  it 


FOES   IN   LAW  II 

loses  in  volume  it  gains  in  firmness,  and  her  lover's 
temper  rises. 

**  What  senseless  obstinacy!"  is  his  not  very 
lover-like  inward  comment;  but  he  only  says — 

"Has  it  ever  struck  you  that  a  brother  may  prove 
a  broken  reed  to  lean  upon?  " 

"  No." 

"  That  he  may  turn  the  tables  upon  you?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean." 

"  That  he  may  marry." 

For  the  first  time  a  brand  of  real  indignation 
kindles  the  depths  of  her  eyes. 

**  That  shows  how  little  you  know  him!  With  his 
deep  nature,  after  the  terrible  shipwreck  he  suffered 
ten  years  ago,  when  he  was  so  disgracefully  treated, 
he  has  never  looked,  never  will  look,  at  a  woman 
again! " 

"  And  you  think  that  such  shipwrecks  are  always 
final  ?" 

"I  do  not  know  about  the  generality;  I  know 
that  his  is." 

There  is  a  quiet  doggedness  in  her  tone  which 
shows  him  that  further  scepticism  would  be  danger- 
ous. 

"  So  this  is  your  last  word?  " 

"  It  must  be." 

"  You  send  me  empty  away?  " 

There  is  a  Biblical  turn  in  the  phrase,  and  the 
depth  of  his  reproach  is  conveyed  by  that  drop  of 
the  voice  which  has  once  or  twice  from  his  pulpit 
sent  a  thrill,  half  religious,  half  sensuous,  through 
her. 

"  I  must." 


la  FOES   IN    LAW 

"  Do  you  realize  what  you  are  doing?  Have  you 
counted  the  cost?  '* 

There  is  still  that  pulpit  quality  in  his  voice  which 
confuses  her  between  the  priest  and  the  lover;  and 
the  consciousness  that  his  eyes  are  boring  through 
her  like  fiery  gimlets,  as  she  has  seen  them  do 
through  his  congregation  when  he  has  b^n  driving 
the  sword  of  some  burning  truth  up  to  the  hilt  in 
them,  makes  her  feel  as  if  he  were  putting  before  her 
a  final  and  irrevocable  choice  between  eternal  good 
and  ill. 

*'  It  has  never  struck  me  that  there  was  any  to 
count,"  she  answers,  troubled. 

"  Do  you  understand  what  you  are  doing  when 
you  turn  me  out  to-night,  and  send  me  back  to  my 
wretched  apology  for  a  home?  " 

"  I  fear  you  are  very  unconifortable,"  she  says, 
partly  catching  with  relief  at  the  chance  of  turning 
the  conversation,  but  also  in  real  housewifely  solici- 
tude for  his  welfare.  "  Why  do  not  you  change 
your  lodgings?  " 

He  waves  away  her  matter-of-factness  with  a  ges- 
ture of  boundless  impatience. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  think  I  am  challenging 
your  pity  for  a  few  physical  discomforts?  If  it  were 
only  that " 

He  looks  round  contemptuously,  but  even  as  he 
does  so  a  heave  of  aesthetic  disgust  agitates  him  at 
the  memory  of  the  down-at-heel  slavey,  the  fire 
habitually  let  out,  the  oleograph  of  the  Queen  and 
Prince  Albert,  and  the  perennial  smell  of  onic  nj- 
and  paraffin  to  which  he  will  have  to  carry  back  hi' 
broken  heart.  Unconscious  of  the  ignoble  track^  • 
thoughts  have  taken,  she  looks  at  him  in  silent    's- 


FOES   IN   LAW  13 

tress,  a  distress  so  full  of  undisguised  sympathy  that 
he  falls  to  urgent  pleading. 

"  I  know  it  is  not  the  highest  kind  of  nature  that 
needs  the  heat  of  human  sympathy  before  its  fruits 
can  ripen  to  any  purpose;  but  such  as  it  is,  it  is 
mine.  Lettice,  being  what  I  am,  how  can  I  lift 
other  hearts  up  when  my  own  is  trodden  in  the 
dust?  How  can  I  carry  light  and  life  to  other  souls 
when  there  is  nothing  but  darkness  and  death  in  my 
own? '' 

The  exaggeration  of  the  phrase  is  patent;   and 
something  in  it — she  could  hardly  have  told  what 
— shocks  her;  yet  her  rebuke  is  lenient. 
.    "  If  one  has  suffered  one's  self,  one  can  surely 
help  others  better.'* 

Her  protest  is  lost  in  the  whirlwind  of  his 
words — 

"  In  after  life  you  will  have  the  satisfaction  of  say- 
ing to  yourself,  *  He  had  a  career  before  him;  he 
would  have  had  a  career  if  I  had  not  murdered  it.'  " 

She  lifts  her  drooped  head  with  dignity  and 
spirit. 

"  I  shall  say  nothing  of  the  kind." 

Once  again  through  the  blinding  drift  of  his  agi- 
tation he  feels  that  he  is  on  the  wrong  course,  and 
is  only  damaging  his  cause. 

"  What  am  I  saying?  "  he  cries,  clutching  his 
handsome  dark  head  with  a  gesture  that,  though 
theatrical,  the  dash  of  Irish  blood  which  is  in  him 
makes  perfectly  natural.  "  You  are  getting  further 
^i^d  further  away  from  me.  Put  the  right  words 
^ifto  my  mouth.  There  must  be  some  that  would 
'%ive  you  if  I  could  find  them.    Are  there  none — 


14  FOES    IN    LAW 

none?  Are  you  really,  really  going  to  send  me 
away — send  me  away  without  a  pang?  " 

Real  feeling,  coupled  with  the  rhetorician's  in- 
stinct, has  put  him  on  the  right  tack  this  time.  The 
broken  hoarseness  of  his  usually  tuneful  voice,  the 
alternate  halt  and  rush  of  his  words,  bring  an  an- 
swering vibration  into  hers. 

"  Not  quite  without  a  pang." 

He  can  scarcely  get  out  his  rejoinder.  "  Then  if 
this  obstacle — this  absurd  " — once  again  he  is  on 
dangerous  ground,  but  quickly  recovers  his  footing 
— "  if  this  obstacle  that  you  think  so  insurmount- 
able were  removed,  there  would  be  nothing  else  be- 
tween us?  " 

She  fetches  her  breath  quickly.  "  I  do  not  say 
that.  I  do  not  know.  I  can't  tell  you.  How  can  I 
when  I  can't  tell  myself." 

"  If  he  marries " 

"  What  is  the  use  of  speculating  on  the  impossi- 
ble? " 

Her  voice  is  full  of  impatient,  angry  distress,  and 
he  can  get  nothing  more  out  of  her. 


CHAPTER   II 

The  master  of  the  house  has  been  absent  for  a  few 
days,  and  his  return  by  an  evening  train  entails  the 
putting  off  dinner  for  half  an  hour.  It  is  a  respite 
for  which  Lettice  Trent  is  truly  thankful,  but  of 
which  she  feels  the  deplorable  insufficiency.  Half 
an  hour  in  which  to  grow  familiar  with  the  fact  of 
having  seen  the  teacher  at  whose  feet  you  have  sat 
for  twelve  months  rolling  metaphorically  and  al- 
most literally  at  yours!  Her  life  has  not  been  rich 
in  acute  sensations,  and  as  she,  with  solitary  flush- 
ings, goes  over  the  details  of  the  interview,  her 
thoughts  glide  leniently  over  whatever  of  exaggera- 
tion, rhodomontade,  and  bad  taste  it  may  have 
called  forth,  to  dwell  with  comparative  complacency 
upon  the  size  and  brilliancy  of  the  passion  she  has 
inspired.  The  idea  is  so  new  that  she  does  not  know 
what  angle  to  look  at  it  from.  His  sufferings,  her 
own  dense  unsuspectingness;  what  will  happen 
when  next  they  meet? — she  will  have  to  see  him  no 
later  than  to-morrow,  but  that  will  be  only  in  the 
pulpit — whether  under  different  circumstances  she 
could  have  answered  differently?  This  last  and 
weightiest  question  brings  back  some  return  of  the 
quivering  of  flesh  and  spirit  of  half  an  hour  ago;  and 
she  has  asked  it  of  herself  a  hundred  different  times, 
and  answered  it  with  a  perpetual  oscillation  between 
yes  and  no. 

15 


x6  FOES   IN   LAW 

The  hundred  and  first  query  is  cut  in  two  by  the 
sound  of  the  hall-door  bell,  that  tells  of  her  brother's 
return.  She  hurries  out  to  meet  him — an  imme- 
morial custom — and  they  kiss  each  other  with  their 
usual  sober  pleasure  in  reunion.  It  strikes  her  in- 
deed with  a  tweak  of  compunction  that  his  greeting 
is  rather  more  demonstrative — that  he  is  a  little 
gladder  to  see  her  than  usual.  He  is  far  from  sus- 
pecting the  danger  that  has  threatened  him.  Their 
affection  is  not  an  ebullient  one,  but  to-night  the 
consciousness  of  her  half-treachery  makes  her  add  a 
small  exotic  caress. 

"  How  cold  your  hand  is!  '* 

"  Is  it?     I  am  not  cold." 

He  is  gladder  than  usual  to  be  at  home  again. 
What  a  happy  tone  in  his  voice!  They  reach  the 
morning-room  hearthrug,  and  the  traveller  spreads 
his  palms  towards  the  blaze,  while  the  puppy  humi- 
liates herself — wrong  way  up — in  uncalled-for  boot- 
lickings at  his  feet. 

"  You  have  not  said,  *  How  do  you  do?  *  to 
Kirstie.'* 

"  How  are  you,  Kirstie?  " 

His  tone  is  kind,  but  absent.  Usually  he  makes 
a  fuss  in  his  grave  way  with  the  little  dog. 

"Well,  how  is  London?" 

"  London  was  very  well  when  I  left  it." 

"  As  that  was  only  two  and  a  half  hours  ago,  we 
may  hope  it  is  well  still." 

"  It  was  more  than  two  and  a  half  hours  ago." 

She  looks  inquiringly  at  him. 

"  It  was  two  days  ago.  I  left  London  on  Thurs- 
day." 

The  surprise  in  her  look  amounts  to  a  query,  but 


FOES   IN   LAW  17 

she  does  not  put  it  into  words,  knowing  that  he  is 
not  fond  of  being  questioned.    She  is  rewarded. 

"  I  was  out  of  London;  I  was  at  Wimbledon.'* 

"Wimbledon!" 

"  Yes,  Wimbledon." 

"  I  did  not  think  that  you  knew  any  one  at  Wim- 
bledon." 

"  Did  not  you?  " 

His  speech,  like  his  ideas,  always  moves  slowly, 
and  his  sister  is  used  to  waiting  for  the  tardy  births 
of  his  brain.  Nor  is  her  curiosity  so  much  excited 
as  it  would  usually  be,  the  pre-occupation  with  her 
own  portentous  piece  of  bottled  news  making  other 
topics  seem  far  and  faint.  Her  brother,  apparently 
not  wishing  to  unfold  himself  further  for  the  mo- 
ment, turns  the  tables  upon  her,  and  his  next  re- 
mark makes  her  feel  getting  upon  very  dangerous 
ground. 

**  And  you?    What  have  you  been  up  to?  " 

"  Oh,  not  much.  I  bicycled  down  into  the  village 
to  my  carving-class  after  luncheon  to-day.  The 
roads  were  horrible.  I  all  but  skidded  twice — and 
— Randal  Chevening  came  to  tea." 

"  And  poetry-books?  " 

"No;  no  poetry-books;  we — talked." 

"  Talk!    Yes,  that  is  about  what  he  is  good  for." 

The  remark  gives  her  a  dreadful  jar;  and  there 
is  an  uneasy  and  unwonted  jocosity  about  the  tone 
in  which  it  is  uttered  that  she  does  not  recognize  as 
belonging  to  the  speaker.  Surely  there  is  some- 
thing odd  about  Jim  to-night!  Can  he  suspect? 
Is  that  why  he,  usually  the  embodiment  of  large, 
slow  calm,  is  fidgeting  about  the  room  so  tire- 
somely?    She  finds  no  words  in  which  to  defend  her 


t8  FOES   IN   LAW 

priestly  lover,  and  it  is  the  impugner  of  his  merits 
who  by-and-by  comes  back  to  the  hearthrug  and  re- 
sumes the  conversation. 

"  You  have  not  asked  me  why  I  went  to  Wimble- 
don." 

"  I  know  that  you  do  not  like  being  asked 
why." 

He  certainly  is  odd.  He  has  been  thinking  of 
Wimbledon  the  whole  time,  and  has  not  known 
what  he  was  saying  upon  the  other  subject! 

"  I  have  something  to  tell  you." 

'*  About  Wimbledon?" 

Her  attention  is  fully  aroused  now,  and  her  eyes 
follow,  with  that  vague  fear  which  the  unaccus- 
tomed always  gives  us,  his  large  fingers  Hfting  up 
and  setting  down  again  the  little  Chelsea  person- 
ages that  stand  on  the  narrow  ledge  of  the  Adams 
chimney-piece. 

"  I  expect  that  it  will  surprise  you." 

"Yes?" 

"But  I  hope  that,  on  the  whole,  you  will  be 
pleased." 

''Pleased?  " 

What  can  this  be  the  preamble  to?  He  comes  to 
a  dead  stop,  the  line  of  his  utterance  evidently  quite 
blocked  by  the  ponderousness  of  the  unaccustomed 
freight  he  is  trying  to  send  along  it.  How  terribly 
slow  he  is!  It  is  a  thought  that,  as  a  rule,  his  sister 
never  permits  herself;  but  to-night  it  thrusts  itself 
inevitably  upon  her. 

"Well?" 

Instead  of  a  straightforward  answer,  he  begins  to 
try  back  laboriously  on  his  own  trail. 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  you  have,  noticed  that  I 


FOES   IN    LAW  19 

have  been  to  London — you  have  always  thought  it 
was  London — oftener  than  usual  of  late?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  I  have." 

What  can  this  be  the  preamble  to? 

"  I  have  been  for  years  meeting  at  the  club  ofif 
and  on  a  man  who  used  to  be  in  my  regiment.  He 
left  long  before  I  joined,  but  he  had  been  in  it." 

*'  Yes?  " 

"  He  lives  at  Wimbledon  now." 

"  Does  he?  " 

Mr.  Trent  clears  his  throat,  and  stops  once  more. 
So  far  they  have  only  got  back  to  their  point  of  de- 
parture. 

"  He  was  always  inviting  me  to  go  down  there  to 
golf  with  him." 

"  And  you  went?  " 

What  heaviness  is  this  that  has  come  to  sit  upon 
her  chest? 

"  No,  I  did  not,  though  I  should  have  liked  to  try 
the  links;  but  I  did  not  think  it  good  enough." 

There  is  an  almost  awed  incredulity  in  his  voice 
as  to  a  state  of  mind  so  past  as  to  be  now  unbe- 
lievable. 

"  So  you  refused?  " 

"  Yes,  I  refused  times  out  of  mind;  and  then  one 
day  I  did  not  refuse,  I  accepted." 

"  Yes?  " 

"  I  went  to  Wimbledon." 

"  Yes?  " 

"  And  then  I  went  again." 

"  Yes?  " 

"  And  again." 

"  Yes?  " 

"  And  again." 


20  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  Yes?  " 

A  pause. 

"  Has  your  friend  a  wife?  " 

"No;  he  is  a  widower.*' 

"  Children?  " 

"  Any  amount." 

"  Grown  up?  " 

"Three." 

She  knows  what  is  coming  now;  but  for  the  mo- 
ment she  cannot  and  will  not  let  it  come.  She 
snatches  at  the  first  question  that  occurs  to  her,  to 
stave  it  off  for  even  a  few  seconds. 

"  What  is  the  name  of — of  the  family?  " 

"  Kergouet." 

"Kergouet?  " 

"  Yes;  it  is  an  odd  name.  They  came  originally 
from  Brittany." 

"Kergouet! " 

"  It  does  not  sound  English,  but  they  are." 

''Kergouet! " 

Her  repetition  of  the  word  disconcerts  him  in  the 
highest  degree. 

"  You — ^you  will  get  used  to  the  sound." 

Once  again  she  repeats  it,  regardless  of  his  un- 
easiness. 

"  Kergouet!  I  have  heard  the  name  before.  One 
cannot  mistake  it.     It  is  not — it  cannot  be " 

She  breaks  off;  but  he  does  not  ask  her  to 
finish  her  sentence. 

"  There  was  a  man  of  that  name — it  was  before  I 
was  born,  but  I  have  heard  of  it,  a  scandalous  case 
— a  man  in  your  regiment  who  ran  away  with — not 
the  wife,  but  the — the  mistress  of  a  brother  officer, 
and  had  to  leave  the  army!    It  was  said  that  there 


FOES   IN   LAW  31 

were  peculiarly  disgraceful  circumstances.  It  can't 
be  that  he  was  in  any  way  related  to — to " 

Such  a  look  as  hers  must  drag  a  negative  out  of 
him,  one  would  think;  but  none  comes.  His  large, 
good,  stupid  face  is  set  like  a  flint;  and  in  his  usually 
unimportant  eyes,  small  and  palish,  there  is  a  depth 
of  obstinacy  too  profound  for  his  sister  to  plumb. 

"  It  is  the  same  man;  but  you  had  better  not  say 
anything  more  against  him,  as  I  am  going  to  marry 
his  second  daughter." 

Miss  Trent  has  never  known  what  faintness 
means,  and  now  she  catches  for  support  neither  at 
table  nor  chair-back,  nor  does  the  room  go  round 
with  her;  she  only  says  very  dis^tinctly — 

"  The  daughter  of  a " 

"  He  married  her,  and  there  never  was  a  breath 
of  scandal  about  her  afterwards.  She  made  him  an 
excellent  wife,  and  she  is  dead." 

"  I  am  not  going  to  say  anything  against  any  of 
them." 

She  sits  down.  Is  it  conceivable  that  she  is  really 
hearing  what  seems  to  have  entered  her  ears?  that 
the  unsavoury  story,  which  has  been  an  unheeded 
possession  of  her  memory  for  years,  relegated  with 
indifferent  disgust  to  its  remotest  corner,  should 
now  be  dragged  forth  into  its  very  front,  and 
apropos  of  what?  Her  brain  refuses  to  open  its 
doors  to  admit  such  a  monstrosity;  and  for  some 
moments  she  sits  absolutely  knocked  out  of  time 
by  it. 

His  voice,  full  of  a  distress  which  he  tries  to  hin- 
der from  being  anger  too,  reaches  her  in  bold  plead- 
ing. 

"  If  you  could  only  see  Marie." 


22  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  Her  name  is  Marie?  " 

"  Yes." 

"After?" 

He  sees  and  resents  the  drift  of  the  question. 
"  I  do  not  know  after  whom." 

"  How  old  is  she?  " 

"  Nineteen." 

"  And  you  are  thirty-eight." 

She  regrets  the  useless  dig  as  soon  as  it  is  de- 
livered, and  sees  how  he  smarts  under  it. 

"  You  can't  regret  the  discrepancy  more  than  I 
do." 

Another  halt  for  breath  and  realization,  her  eyes 
resting  first  on  one,  then  on  the  other  of  her  late 
parents'  chairs,  sacredly  kept  since  the  hour  of  their 
deaths  to  the  identical  spots  occupied  by  them. 

"Thank  God  they  are  dead!  How  could  they 
have  borne  it?  "  The  reflection  drives  her  ship- 
wrecked vessel  upon  the  rock  of  an  unwise  question. 

"  Is  it  quite — quite  settled?  " 

"  Absolutely.  I  asked  her  to  marry  me  yester- 
day evening." 

"  And  she  accepted  you?  " 

"  At  once." 

Another  interval.  The  sister's  eyes  have  moved 
to  the  brother's  face,  and  are  resting  there  in  an 
unconscious  openness  of  appraisement.  Love  in 
her  case  is  not  blind,  if  indeed  he  ever  is,  and  does 
not  merely  put  on  the  semblance  of  it  to  trick  the 
outside.  She  sees  as  clearly  as  could  le  premier 
venu  the  clumsiness  of  her  brother's  figure,  the  want 
of  harmony  in  his  large  features,  upon  which  her 
own  are  delicate  improvements;  the  pompousness 
of  manner  which  protects  his  deep  shyness.     Is  it 


FOES   IN   LAW  ^3 

conceivable  that  the  young  adventuress  who  has 
enmeshed  him  has  had  eyes  to  see  the  noble  virtues 
hiding  beneath  his  unromantic  exterior — the  high 
honour,  the  truth,  the  single-mindedness?  Is  not 
it  rather  certain  that  she  has  cared  nothing  at  all 
for  them,  but  has  had  her  greedy  eyes  fixed  wholly 
upon  his  money  and  position?  has  looked  upon  him 
as  the  ladder  by  which  the  whole  disreputable  rout 
are  to  climb  out  of  their  mud? 

Thoughts  of  this  kind  cannot  but  leave  a  print 
upon  the  face  behind  which  they  are  being  hatched, 
and  that  they  have  done  so  upon  hers  is  evident 
by  the  acute  surface  disturbance  that  has  spread 
over  her  brother's  features,  though  it  cannot  affect 
the  dogged  bliss  in  his  eyes.  With  a  heave  of  the 
chest  and  a  convulsive  swallowing,  the  girl  pulls 
herself  together.  It  is  going  to  be,  and  she  must 
accept  it. 

"  Is  she  pretty?  " 

"  Wait  till  you  see  her." 

At  the  conciliatory-sounding  question  his  joy 
has  bloomed  out  as  broad  and  flaring  as  a  Byblu- 
men  tulip  in  a  May  noon.  See  her!  Yes,  that  is 
what  will  have  to  come  next.  She  disguises  the 
inevitable  shudder  under  a  quick  change  of  posi- 
tion. He  must  not  see  the  evidences  of  her  disgust, 
or  they  will  rob  her  of  the  miserable  little  part  in 
him  that  may  yet  be  left  her. 

"  And  clever?     Amusing?  " 

"  I  dare  say  she  is  not  what  you  would  call  clever, 
not  highly  educated,  but  quick — quick  as  light- 
ning! " 

An  odious  hope,  of  which  she  is  heartily  ashamed, 
darts  up  in  Lettice's  heart.    The  lively  American 


^4  FOES  IN   LAW 

who  had  jilted  Mr.  Trent  ten  years  ago  had  been 
"quick"  too — "quick  as  lightning;"  and  it  was 
his  perfect  inability  to  keep  up  with  her  speed  that 
had  motived  her  relinquishment  of  him  and  his 
Georgian  house,  warmly  as  she  had  admired  the 
Adams  ceilings  and  chimneypieces  of  the  latter  on 
her  solitary  visit  to  it.  Quick  as  lightning!  The 
brother's  mind  is  usually  tardy  in  following  the 
windings  of  another,  but  on  this  occasion  love  has 
set  a  sharper  edge  on  his  wits,  and  he  reads  Let- 
tice's  thought. 

"  Yes,  but  she  can  put  up  with  slow  people." 

Her  silent  acceptance — is  it  acceptance?— of  this 
makes  him  move  restlessly,  and  in  so  doing  tread 
upon  the  still  grovelling  Kirstie's  tail.  Her  pro- 
testing squeak,  so  much  in  excess  of  what  the  in- 
flicted injury  merits,  seems  to  them  both  a  blessed 
distraction.  By  the  time  that  she  is  calmed,  ex- 
plained to,  and  set  right  way  up,  the  air,  to  the  man 
at  least,  seems  sensibly  lighter. 

"  Of  course,  you  are  taken  aback  at  first." 

"  Yes  " — very  slowly — "  I  am  taken  aback." 

"  But  when  you  get  used  to  it — when  you  get  to 
know  her " 

"  Yes?  " 

She  cannot  aid  him  in  his  efforts  to  hatch  out  the 
addled  egg  of  his  bald  consolation. 

"  You  will  see  that,  so  far  from  having  lost  any- 
thing, you  have  gained " 

"Oh,  do  not  say  it!"  she  cries,  with  an  even 
acuter,  and  certainly  better  grounded,  outburst  of 
pain  than  Kirstie's. 

"  I  know  what  you  are  going  to  say,  that  I  shall 


FOES   IN   LAW  25 

have  gained  a  sister,  but  do  not.  It  is — it  is — so 
banal!    Everybody  says  it,  and  it — it  is  not  true." 

He  looks  at  her  in  a  dismay  as  flat  as  his  untrue 
truism  had  been. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean.  I  will  go  and 
dress  for  dinner." 

He  moves,  not  without  dignity,  doorwards;  but 
in  a  second  she  has  sprung  after  him,  realizing  the 
weightiness  of  the  issue  at  stake — that  those  un- 
sympathetic words  now  will  for  ever  close  the  doors 
of  that  heart,  which  for  all  her  twenty-two  years 
have  stood  wide  open  to  her.  She  must  keep  them 
from  banging  to,  even  if  the  finger  she  puts  into  the 
chink  to  stop  them  gets  crushed  to  pieces  in  the 
process. 

*'  Do  not  go!  I  want  to  hear  a  great  deal  more! 
It  is  so  sudden!  I  thought  I  had  you  all  to  myself, 
as  I  have  had  for  the  last  ten  years." 

He  pauses,  very  placable,  though  the  allusion 
to  the  date  of  his  former  fiasco,  upon  which  for 
years  they  have  both  been  strictly  silent,  brings  a 
small  crease  into  his  forehead. 

"Ten  years  ago  I  made  a  great  mistake;  you 
think  that  I  am  now  going  to  make  another.  Well, 
I  am  not! " 

There  is  such  a  cocksure  certainty  of  conviction 
in  his  tone  that  she  must  needs  catch  an  echo  of  it. 

"  I  believe  you,"  she  says  faintly.  Then,  with 
much  more  emphasis  and  life,  "  And  oh,  you  dear 
fellow,  I  do  hope  you  are  going  to  be  luckier  this 
time!" 

The  aspiration  lacks  nothing  in  tender  heat  and 
sincerity,  though  the  recurring  allusion  to  the 
American  disaster  is,  perhaps,  not  quite  happy.  But 


36  FOES   IN    LAW 

Mr.  Trent,  with  that  largeness  of  treatment  and 
overlooking  of  minutiae  which  makes  intercourse 
with  men  as  a  rule  easier  than  that  with  women,  ac- 
cepts only  what  is  agreeable  in  the  phrase,  and  says 
gratefully — 

"  Thank  you,  dear;  please  God,  I  shall." 

With  an  unaccustomed  caress  she  lays  her  cheek 
against  his  sleeve. 

"  I  had  no  business  to  count  upon  keeping  you 
always  to  myself." 

"  I  was  so  likely  to  keep  you  always,  was  not  I?  " 

"  You  were  not  likely,  you  were  certain.  No  later 
than  to-day  I  sent  away  some  one  because  I 
thought  you  could  not  do  without  me!  " 

The  bitterness  of  that  misconception  breeds  a 
sigh  that  refuses  to  be  quite  strangled.  For  a  mo- 
ment he  is  startled  out  of  his  ecstatic  preoccupation. 

"  To-day?  " 

"  Yes,  this  afternoon." 

"  This  afternoon?    Whom?  " 

"  Randal  Chevening." 

The  brother  breaks  into  a  laugh  of  indignant 
amusement. 

"  He  asked  you  to  marry  him?  " 
-     "  Yes." 

"  To  go  and  live  with  him  over  the  cheese- 
monger's? " 

"  If  you  like  to  put  it  so." 

"  Impudent  young  dog!  He  would  have  been 
better  employed  in  the  night-school,  where  Taylor 
tells  me  he  never  sets  foot,  than  making  an  ass  of 
himself  about  people  who  are  meat  for  his  mas- 
ters!" 

She  turns  away,  dyed  angry  scarlet  from  head  to 


FOES   IN   LAW  27 

heel.  In  Jim's  unaccustomed  hand  ridicule  becomes 
a  bludgeon.  Her  gesture  is  so  unmistakable  that 
Mr.  Trent*s  tone  changes  to  one  of  alarmed  affec- 
tion. 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  say  that  you  care  about 
him?  that  you  wish  to  go  and  live  over  the  cheese- 
monger's? " 

She  bursts  into  tears  at  this  persistent  setting  of 
her  idyll  in  a  contemptible  light.  Alone  she  might 
have  withstood  it,  but  complicated  by  the  dreadful 
surprise  the  evening  has  brought  her,  it  quite  over- 
sets her. 

"  At  least  I  am  wanted  therel " 


CHAPTER   III 

Her  tears  were  a  dreadful  mistake,  but  they  were 
not  an  irreparable  one.  Her  brother,  always  slow  to 
take  offence,  least  of  all  to-night  desires  or  can 
afford  to  resent  them.  If  he  did,  to  whom  could  he 
pour  out  the  narrative  of  his  victory?  Before  the 
evening  is  half  over  she  has  heard  twice  repeated, 
with  slow  iteration  of  ecstasy — the  difficult  out- 
bubbling  of  confidence  of  a  constitutionally  tongue- 
tied  man — the  tale  of  the  steps  by  which  he  has 
climbed  to  his  pinnacle. 

Apparently  there  were  only  three  of  them  in  all 
— the  day  when  Kergouet  pere  had  said,  "  Let  me 
introduce  you  to  my  daughter;  "  the  day  on  which 
she  had  allowed  him  the  high  privilege  of  tearing  a 
ripped  braid  off  the  bottom  of  her  skirt,  and  had 
shown  no  disapproval  when  he  put  it  in  his  pocket; 
and  the  day — the  narrator's  voice  grows  low  as  of 
one  entering  a  temple  when  he  reaches  it — on 
which,  apparently  at  the  first  hint  of  priest  and  altar 
(this  is  a  gloss  of  the  hearer's),  she  had  fallen  into 
his  arms. 

The  sister  listens  with  a  smile  of  whose  glassy 
fixedness  she  is  helplessly  conscious,  without  being 
able  to  change  it,  and  a  running  inward  commen- 
tary which  picks  up  ominous  hints  as  it  flows  along 
underground.    She  must  be  a  slattern,  or  the  braid 

a8 


FOES   IN   LAW  39 

would  not  have  been  hanging  from  her  gown;  a 
coquette  of  a  very  contemptible  type,  or  she  would 
not  have  allowed  such  an  incident  to  become  the 
medium  of  an  amatory  demonstration;  and  totally 
without  dignity  or  delicacy,  or  she  would  not  have 
tumbled  into  his  mouth  at  the  third  meeting,  Hke  an 
over-rij>e  plum. 

Happily  unaware  of  the  exegesis  of  his  text  that 
is  going  on  at  his  side,  Mr.  Trent  finishes  his  story, 
and  falls  into  a  blissful  introspection,  which  is 
obviously  marred  only  by  the  consciousness  of  his 
own  lameness  in  expressing  his  stupefaction  of  joy 
and  wonder.  In  the  effort  to  remedy  it  he  begins 
again,  but  only  to  give  up  in  despair  the  struggle 
with  his  own  congestion  of  words. 

*'  It  is  no  use  trying  to  describe  her!  " 

"  Does  she — does  she  like  the  same  kind  of 
things  that  you  do?  Has  she  the  same  sort  of 
tastes?  " 

"  If  she  has  not,  she  will  soon  acquire  them;  and 
if  she  does  not,  it  will  not  matter." 

Perhaps  he  divines  a  snare  set  in  the  question, 
for  there  is  something  bulldog-like  in  the  tenacity 
of  grip  upon  his  treasure  that  his  words  imply. 

"  She  is  fond  of  the  country?  " 

"  Yes,  very  fond;  at  least,  I  am  sure  she  is.  She 
has  not  had  much  opportunity  of  trying  it  as  yet." 

"  They  have  always  lived  in  the  sub — at  Wim- 
bledon? " 

"  No-o.  They  have  had  no  fixed  home.  They 
have  been  about  the  world  a  great  deal." 

Before  Lettice*s  mental  eye  process  in  ragged 
row  the  names  of  the  Continental  resorts  of  the 
shady  English,  and  she  wisely  seeks  no  further  to 


30  FOES  IN   LAW 

localize  her  future  sister-in-law.  A  polite  generality 
is  her  next  venture. 

"  Living  abroad  gives  people  pleasant  manners 
— plenty  of  aplomb.  I  dare  say  that  she  will  not  be 
nearly  so  shy  of  me  as  I  shall  be  of  her." 

"  She  is  not  in  the  least  shy." 

"  Her  mother's  daughter  is  scarcely  likely  to  be!" 
This  is  the  sister's  inward  comment.  Aloud  she 
says — 

"  Happy  creature! " 

"  Not  forward,  either — not  at  all  forward." 

He  smiles  at  some  blissful  recollection,  and  Let- 
tice  looks  away.  Her  next  question  requires  the 
preface  of  a  determined  swallowing-down  of  some 
choking  repulsion. 

"  Is  it  to  be  soon?  " 

"  Very  soon.    What  is  there  to  wait  for?  " 

What,  indeed?  A  foolish  line  from  a  super- 
annuated song  runs  through  the  girl's  head — 

*•  Wait  till  the  clouds  roll  by  ! " 

In  this  case  she  would  have  to  wait  some  time — 
wait  till  the  clouds  roll  away  from  the  Kergouet 
family;  till  the  father  is  reinstated  in  the  army  he 
has  disgraced,  and  the  dishonoured  mother's  mem- 
ory whitewashed!  Yes,  there  is  certainly  nothing  to 
wait  for.  The  wedding  might  as  well  be  to-morrow. 

"  Walt  till  the  clouds  roll  by." 

They  seem  to  have  gathered  very  thick  upon  Miss 
Trent's  head,  as,  on  the  following  morning,  after  a 
less  sleepful  night  than  she  had  ever  passed  since 
her  mother's  last  illness,  she  follows  her  brother  to 
church  by  the  short  cut  through  the  park,  which  is 
over-narrow  to  hold  two  abreast.    For  how  many 


FOES   IN   LAW  31 

years  has  she  seen  his  broad  back  solidly  plodding 
on  in  front  of  her  on  their  weekly  course!  It  is  im- 
possible to  realize,  though  she  bends  mind  and 
imagination  to  the  effort  from  hall  door  to  church 
porch,  that  henceforth  another  figure  than  hers  will 
be  treading  in  her  brother's  steps — a  figure  such  as 
it  is  yet  not  difficult  to  construct,  given  the  facts  of 
its  heredity.  She  interrupts  the  walk  to  church  of 
her  future  relative  to  question  whether  she  will  ever 
go  to  church  at  all,  but  pulls  herself  up,  shocked  at 
her  own  want  of  Christian  charity;  and  through 
the  thick  gloom  of  her  forebodings  the  one  ray  of 
light  which  illumines  the  situation,  broadens  and 
brightens  into  a  tremulous  glow,  as  the  solitary 
church  bell  calls  her  ever  nearer  and  louder  from 
the  pretty  mediaeval  tower,  which  seems  trying  to 
wrap  itself  in  its  ivy  cloak  from  contact  with  the 
bastardized,  red  brick  eighteenth-century  body. 

Her  emancipation  has  come  as  a  bitter  surprise, 
but  it  has  come.  She  is  free,  free  to  follow  where  a 
passionate  summoning  voice  last  night  called  her 
— a  voice  that  seemed  so  certain  of  a  fellow  voice 
answering  it  from  her  own  deeps,  as  to  confuse  her 
with  leaping  suspicion  that  it  may  be  so!  Within 
a  very  few  minutes  she  will  have  to  hear  that  voice 
again,  decorously  levelled,  it  is  true,  to  his  beauti- 
ful, if  rather  dramatic,  rendering  of  the  Liturgy; 
but  still  the  very  same  voice  that  had  told  her  from 
the  Manor  hearthrug  that  he  was  no  ascetic.  Thank 
Heaven,  she  will  be  spared  the  ordeal  of  hearing 
him  preach,  since  the  vicar  holds  to  his  own  pulpit 
in  the  morning,  though  resignedly  conscious  of  an 
eclipse  to  which  the  comparatively  empty  morning 
sittings  bear  irrefutable  witness. 


32  FOES   IN   LAW 

But  Miss  Trent  has  reckoned  without  the  rela- 
tive's death-bed,  to  which  the  Rev.  John  Taylor  has 
been  suddenly  summoned,  leaving  the  whole  weight 
of  the  services  upon  his  curate's  shoulders.  Dis- 
may has  seized  her  from  the  moment  of  her  noting 
the  vicar's  absence  from  the  entering  procession  of 
choir  and  clergy,  a  dismay  which  goes  on  steadily 
heightening  till  it  reaches  its  climax,  when  she  be- 
comes aware  that  Randal  Chevening  is  in  the  pul- 
pit, rising  so  awkwardly  close  above  the  front  pew, 
where — penalty  of  local  importance — she  and  her 
brother  sit.  She  had  never  before  found  its  near- 
ness oppressive,  but  had  rather  rejoiced  in  the  op- 
portunities given  of  watching  each  eager  thought, 
each  strong  plea,  dawn  on  the  mobile  features  be- 
fore being  conveyed  to  the  eloquent  tongue  of  the 
preacher.  To-day  her  eyes  are  glued  to  the  ledge 
of  prayer-books  in  front  of  her;  yet  she  snatches 
one  snap-shot  glance.  It  tells  her  that  he  is  very 
pale — that,  perhaps,  was  to  be  expected — and  that 
his  features  look  sharper  and  better  chiselled  than 
ever  from  the  impress  they  wear  of  severe  mental 
suffering. 

He  looks  an  embodiment  of  fire  and  fasting. 
That  the  latter  word  but  too  probably  expresses  a 
literal  fact  occurs  regretfully  to  the  housewifely 
mind  of  Miss  Trent,  since,  from  what  she  knows  of 
it,  his  landlady's  cuisine  is  but  little  Hkely  to  tempt 
a  love-sick  appetite.  From  the  Isle  of  Paphos,  who 
is  there  that  does  not  know  that  onions  and  sardines 
have  for  ever  been  excluded? 

She  listens  with  an  unaccountable  apprehension 
for  the  text,  and  is  relieved  when  it  comes,  for 


FOES   IN   LAW  33 

surely  it  can  have  no  reference  to  her  and  him — 
"  Thou  shalt  do  no  murder." 

He  gives  it  out  in  a  lifeless  voice,  and  his  opening 
sentences  are  pitched  in  a  low,  flat  key,  which 
matches  the  commonplaces  it  conveys — common- 
places suggested  by  the  original  fratricide.  The 
vicar  himself  could  scarcely  have  been  triter.  But 
it  is  not  for  more  than  a  few  minutes  that  he  crawls 
along  the  level.  With  a  bound  the  dry  theme  has 
sprung  into  life;  it  is  throwing  out  branches  and 
tributaries  on  every  side.  It  is  burgeoning  into  a 
hundred  flowers  of  illustration.  Cain  is  dismissed 
after  being  cursorily  used  to  demonstrate  how  im- 
mensely his  descendants  have  improved  upon  the 
methods  of  the  clumsy  original  artificer  with  the 
bludgeon. 

In  a  voice  that  has  regained  its  clear  volume,  the 
young  prophet  thundering  above  Lettice's  head  an- 
nounces to  the  thin  morning  congregation,  which 
has  not  been  thickened  by  any  rumour  of  the  vicar's 
absence,  that  there  are  probably  not  many  among 
them  who,  if  they  have  reached  man-  or  woman- 
hood, have  not  been  to  some  extent  guilty  of  the 
worst  form  of  fratricide — the  murder  of  a  brother's 
soul.  With  a  rush  of  strong  phrases,  a  torrent  of 
what  would  be  rhetoric  if  it  were  not  so  coloured  by 
potent  feeling  as  to  be  beyond  and  above  the  windy 
wordiness  which  the  word  often  implies,  he  enu- 
merates the  different  weapons  with  which  we  do 
our  killing — the  butcher's  knife  of  overt  unkind- 
ness;  the  strychnine  and  prussic-acid  of  unclean  or 
evil  suggestion;  the  starvation  of  withheld  sym- 
pathy. 

At  the  last  clause  he  stops  dramatically,  and  after 


34  FOES  IN   LAW 

a  pause  which  bathes  the  occupant  of  a  front  pew 
in  cold  perspiration,  goes  on  in  a  quiet,  sad  voice, 
that  though  low  is  thrillingly  audible  through  the 
church,  to  paint  a  picture  which,  though  too  florid 
in  its  details  to  satisfy  the  claims  of  perfect  good 
taste,  has  yet  a  moving  quality  of  its  own — of  the 
empty  cup  held  up  in  the  trembling  hand  of  our 
wayside  brother,  to  be  filled  with  the  cool  spring 
water  of  a  little  love,  a  little  pity,  a  little  understand- 
ing. We  dash  it  aside — the  preacher  makes  a  the- 
atrical gesture  as  of  flinging  something  from  him^ — 
or  we  pass  it  by  ignoringly.  The  crime  in  either 
case  is  equal.  There  is  not  a  pin  to  pick  between 
them!  We  pass  by,  and  go  about  our  work — ^very 
possibly  good  work,  or  our  play — innocent  play 
enough  in  all  likelihood — and  end  our  days  with 
prayer  for  our  own  spiritual  welfare,  that  may  be 
both  devout  and  sincere;  but  nevertheless  we  are 
homicides! 

His  voice  falls  plumb  down,  and  is  extinguished 
in  a  dramatic  silence;  then  rises  again,  perfectly  dis- 
tinct, yet  with  a  mufifled  sound  of  woe  in  it. 

The  souls  that  we  have  slain  outright,  or 
wounded  to  the  death,  may  be  poor  stunted  things, 
with  few  potentialities  of  growth  or  expansion,  or 
they  may — each  word  falls  with  slow,  sad  weight — 
have  contained  the  seeds  of  infinite  soaring  devel- 
opment; but  for  us  might  have  raised  themselves 
into  giant  trees,  whose  leaves  would  have  been  for 
the  healing  of  the  nations,  and  under  whose  benefi- 
cent shadow  peoples  yet  unborn  might  have  found 
rest  and  refreshment. 

Again  he  pauses,  and  passes  his  hand  across  his 
forehead,  as  if  to  wipe  away  the  pain  that  inward 


FOES   IN   LAW  35 

vision  has  stamped  there;  and  Lettice  makes  a 
slight  movement  as  of  relief. 

The  worst  must  be  over  now.  If  he  were  only 
not  so  dreadfully  near.  Even  a  few  paces  further 
off  her  judgment  would  have  come  to  her  aid, 
would  have  condemned  the  floridness  of  his  rheto- 
ric, and  the  badness  of  his  taste;  but  here,  imme- 
diately below  him,  with  the  consciousness  of  his 
pallid  eager  face  right  above  her  ostrich  feathers, 
with  the  sword  of  his  trenchant,  yet  deeply  emo- 
tional, voice  cutting  through  her  very  vitals,  she  is 
capable  of  nothing  but  a  crushing  sense  of  the 
enormity  of  the  wrong  she  has  done  him.  All  the 
same,  it  is  cruel  to  pillory  her  thus  publicly. 

Forgetting  in  the  painful  confusion  of  her  ideas 
that  the  congregation  is  not  behind  the  scenes  of 
last  night's  catastrophe,  she  has  a  suffocated  sense 
that  each  member  of  it  must  be  making  the  appli- 
cation; and  from  under  her  eyelids  steals  a  horrified 
glance  round  to  verify  this  apprehension.  The  lady 
whom  nobody  visits  is  sitting  with  her  head  bent 
and  hands  tightly  folded,  as  if  in  the  corner  of  mem- 
ory she  were  disinterring  the  bones  of  some  vic- 
tim such  as  the  preacher  has  described.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  three  old  gentlewomen,  who  for 
longer  than  Lettice  can  remember  have  flourished 
in  narrow  gentility  in  three  several  village  house- 
lets,  have  their  bonnets  perkily  lifted  with  a  puzzled 
air  of  titillation,  coupled  with  a  perfect  innocence  of 
having  ever  had  the  chance  of  murdering  anything. 

But  Jim?  Surely  after  her  confidence  to  him 
last  night — a  confidence  of  which  she  has  never  re- 
pented but  once,  and  that  has  been  ever  since — 
with  him,  at  least,  there  can  be  no  mistake  as  to  the 


36  "  FOES  IN   LAW 

drift  of  the  curate's  tirade.  Slow  to  wrath  as  he  is, 
it  cannot  fail  but  move  him  to  the  deepest  resent- 
ment. She  scarcely  dares  carry  her  glance  up  to  his 
face.  But  it  does  not  take  a  second  to  prove  to  her 
how  very  unfounded  her  fears  are.  He  is  leaning 
back  in  his  corner  with  his  arms  folded,  the  slightest 
hint  of  a  beatific  smile  touching  the  corners  of  his 
mouth,  evidently  perfectly  unaware  of  the  lurid 
bolts  flying  round  his  head,  or  the  smell  of  sulphur 
in  the  air. 

Never  did  Benediction  dismiss  a  worshipper 
more  thankful  to  be  set  free  than  the  one  who,  with 
a  sensation  of  having  been  undergoing  the  process 
of  flaying  for  the  last  half-hour,  walks  homeward 
to  the  church  gate,  mechanically  returning  the  salu- 
tations she  receives,  but,  contrary  to  her  usual 
friendly  habit,  not  stopping  to  speak  to  any  one. 
She  is  glad  that  a  tenant  with  a  grievance  button- 
holes her  brother  on  the  way  out,  and  so  leaves  her 
a  few  moments  for  collection  and  recovery.  At 
first  there  is  such  a  singing  in  her  head,  and  such  a 
confusion  of  excitement  and  pain,  that  she  can  only 
walk  blindly  on,  with  no  definite  thoughts;  but  as 
the  brush  of  the  sharp  autumn  air  on  her  face,  and 
the  withdrawal  of  that  thundering  proximity,  grad- 
ually restore  her  to  the  possession  of  her  senses,  a 
feeUng  of  hot  indignation  begins  to  supersede  her 
original  remorse.  It  was  an  unworthy  vengeance 
— unworthy,  most  unworthy  of  him. 

She  pauses  in  her  quick  walk,  looking  appre- 
hensively back  to  see  whether  Jim  is  likely  to  over- 
take her  before  she  has  got  her  ruf!led  countenance 
back  to  seemly  Sunday  serenity.     Instead  of  the 


FOES   IN   LAW  37 

expected  figure,  she  sees  that  of  the  object  of  her 
ireful  reflections  hastening  as  fast  as  his  long,  black, 
clerical  legs  will  carry  him  in  her  track.  It  has  been 
a  weekly  habit  for  him  to  lunch  with  them  on  Sun- 
day; but  it  has  never  occurred  to  her  that  the  cus- 
tom would  not  be  intermitted  to-day.  Is  it  possi- 
ble that  he  is  capable  of  the  bad  taste  of  forcing 
himself  upon  her  after  the  morning's  outrage?  She 
stands  and  awaits  him  with  outwardly  quiet  dig- 
nity, both  hands  remaining  in  the  muflf  that  the 
first  sting  of  coming  winter  has  made  grateful. 

"  I  followed  you  to  say  that  I  am  afraid  I  cannot 
lunch  with  you  to-day." 

She  bends  her  head  slightly  in  acquiescence;  and, 
after  an  irresolute  look  at  her,  he  turns  on  his  heel, 
lifting  his  hat.  It  would  be  wiser  to  let  him  go,  con- 
tenting herself  with  the  silent  rebuke  of  her  atti- 
tude; but  the  unassumed  wretchedness  of  his  air 
raises  in  her  the  remorse  only  so  lately  and  partially 
put  to  sleep.  Perhaps  she  is  indeed  the  homicide 
that  he  has  publicly  proclaimed  her  to  be;  for  he 
looks  half  dead. 

"  You  had  no  right  to  preach  at  me." 

Is  it  wrath  or  relenting  that  unsteadies  her  voice? 
He  wheels  round  and  faces  her  again,  but  no  sound 
of  apology  or  denial  crosses  his  lips. 

"  It  was  unworthy  of  you — most  unworthy;  it 
was  worse,  it  was  a  disgrace  to  your  office!  " 

Her  whip-lash  cuts.  She  can  see  the  red  weal  it 
has  raised  across  his  white  face;  but  he  still  takes 
his  chastisement  dumbly.  A  revulsion  comes.  How 
hicieously  he  must  have  suffered  before  he  could 
have  descended  to  such  a  vengeance! 


38  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  You  look  as  if  you  had  not  eaten  anything  for 
a  week." 

"  I  have  not." 

It  shows  a  prosaic  fibre;  but  the  thought  of  Mrs. 
Barton's  cuisine  pleads  her  lodger's  cause  more 
eloquently  than  any  defensive  oratory  on  his  part 
could  have  done  with  his  present  arraigner. 

"  Have  you  not  slept  either?  " 

"  I  did  not  go  to  bed  last  night." 

"  That  was  sensible." 

There  is  a  touch  of  the  old  friendliness  in  the 
chiding  tone,  which  she  perceives  too  late  to  ex- 
tract it. 

"  I  suppose  that  every  one  knows  best  how  to 
treat  their  own  diseases." 

"  I  very  much  doubt  it." 

"  And,  moreover,  I  had  to  prepare — my — ser- 
mon." He  seems  to  have  some  difficulty  in  utter- 
ing the  words.  "  I  did  not  know  till  last  night 
that  I  should  have  to  take  the  vicar's  place." 

"  If  I  had  known  it  I  should  have  stayed  at 
home." 

Indignation  is  again  getting  the  upper  hand. 
It  is  effrontery  in  him  thus  to  allude  to  the  de- 
liberate planning  of  his  offence  in  the  night 
watches.  Once  again  the  cut  of  her  whip  sum- 
mons his  blood  to  answer  her. 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  any  one  but  yourself 
made  the  application?  " 

"  Whether  they  did  or  no,  it  was  equally  inex- 
cusable to  make  the  pulpit  the  vehicle  for  convey- 
ing your  own  private " 

She  pauses,  unable  to  suit  herself  with  a  word. 

"  It  was  inexcusable,"  he  says  in  a  hollow  voice, 


FOES   IN   LAW  39 

his  head  dropping  on  his  chest,  and  with  an  aban- 
donment of  all  self-defence  which  must  knock  the 
weapon  out  of  any  generous  hand. 

"What  possessed  you  to  do  it?"  she  asks  in  a 
mournful,  mollified  key. 

"  It  was  wrung  out  of  me  by  my  agony,"  he  an- 
swers, with  his  head  still  abased  on  his  breast. 
After  a  moment  or  two  raising  it,  and  with  an  ef- 
fort at  recovered  self-respect,  "  And  yet  my  mes- 
sage was  a  true  one.  If  there  had  been  no  you  in 
the  case  I  should  still  have  felt  bound  to  deliver  it. 
I  have  always  been  overwhelmed  by  the  sense  of 
the  power  of  human  souls  over  each  other.  If  we 
realized  our  capacity  for  harm  in  that  way  we 
should  never  dare  open  our  lips  without  an  inward 
prayer  that  we  might  not  be  doing  some  deadly 
injury  to  our  neighbour  by  our  idle  breath." 

"  I  think  that  is  an  overstrained  way  of  looking 
at  it,"  she  says,  but  her  voice  trembles,  the  old 
confusion  between  lover  and  apostle  beginning  to 
blur  her  vision. 

"Is  it?    It  is  my  way." 

He  lifts  his  head  again,  and  his  fine  face,  intel- 
lectual yet  sensuous,  looks  at  her  with  something 
of  its  customary  superiority  won  back.  The 
marks  of  suffering  upon  it  are  so  legible  to  the 
most  cursory  glancer  that  there  is  more  of  ruth 
than  wrath  in  her  next  words. 

"  I  used  to  look  forward  to  your  sermons  from 
Sunday  to  Sunday,  and  now  I  shall  have  to  give  up 
attending  evening  service." 

"  You  need  not,"  he  answers  in  a  stifled  voice— 
"  at  least,  not  for  long." 
»^   "  Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  are  going?  "  she 


40  FOES   IN   LAW 

cries,  in  an  accent  of  such  real  distress  as  brings  a 
slight  wash  of  colour  over  the  marble  of  his  face — 
"  that  I  have  driven  you  away?  Oh,  how  I  re- 
proach myself! " 

"  You  need  not,"  he  answers  in  a  tone  that  with 
so  indulgent  a  Hstener  may  pass  for  magnanimous. 
"  I  shall  not  be  missed.  Such  gifts  as  I  have 
are  not  of  the  kind  that  are  needed  here" — he 
looks  round  with  an  eye  of  lenient  disparagement, 
but  whether  of  himself  or  of  the  distant  school- 
house  and  cottage  roofs  is  uncertain — "  and  how- 
ever little  you  realize — happily  for  yourself  you  are 
not  imaginative — what  you  have  done,  you  must 
see  that  it  is  impossible  I  could  remain  here." 

Her  eyes  drop  to  the  gravel  path,  and  an  indis- 
putable sigh  heaves  the  tails  of  her  Httle  sable  boa. 

"  If  I  am  to  be  ever  fit  for  work  again,  I  must  go 
away — go  away  from  the  one  creature  in  the  world 
who  completes  my  being,  as  I  complete  hers,  be- 
cause she  has  allowed  a  miserable  molehill  of  an 
obstacle  to  rise  into  an  Alp  between  us." 

His  eyes  are  full  of  upbraiding,  and  the  ill- 
covered  fire  of  last  night's  passion  is  breaking  out 
through  the  ventages  of  eye  and  mouth  and  quiv- 
ering nostril.  The  apostle  who  all  along  has  had 
some  difficulty  in  keeping  his  head  above  water  is 
entirely  submerged  in  the  lover. 

Lettice  stands  in  downcast  distress  that  has  yet 
an  element  of  acrid  enjoyment.  Half  subjugated 
by  the  contagion  of  his  hot  urgency,  half  taken  off 
her  feet  by  the  gust  of  his  importunate  asking,  she 
stands  in  vibrating  uncertainty.  When  she  left 
home  this  morning  she  had  fully  intended  to  tell 
him  that  the  obstacle  between  them  was  removed, 


FOES  IN   LAW  41 

but  now  that  the  moment  for  that  admission  is 
come,  something  hinders  its  passage.  Is  this  the 
real  thing — the  thing  that  comes  but  once  in  a  Hfe- 
time?  Is  it?  Is  it?  How  is  she  to  recognize  it?  By 
what  birth-mark?  The  question  keeps  putting 
itself  in  ceaseless  disquiet;  but  through  all  her  being 
there  is  such  a  noisy  whirl  that  she  cannot  distin- 
guish the  answer.  Her  look,  wandering  helplessly 
beyond  her  lover,  alights  on  a  solid  figure  stump- 
ing along  the  path  she  has  just  trodden.  She 
recognizes  it  with  a  sense  of  respite. 

"Here  is  Jim!" 

A  balked  look  of  temper  and  misery  on  Cheve- 
ning*s  face  answers  the  announcement. 

"  Does  he  know?  " 

The  reply  comes  reluctantly.  "  Yes;  I  told  him 
last  night." 

"  Was  he  very  much  upset?  " 

The  state  of  mind  presupposed  in  the  question 
is  in  such  glaring  contrast  with  fact  that  Miss 
Trent  smiles  rather  convulsively. 

"  I — I  do  not  think  he  quite  took  it  in." 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  We  missed  the  vicar,"  says  Mr.  Trent  at  lunch- 
eon.    "  I  hope  he  will  be  back  by  next  Sunday." 

His  sister  glances  at  him  apprehensively.  With 
all  his  air  of  detachment  during  the  sermon,  is  it 
possible  that  he  had  listened  and  understood?  He 
goes  on  placidly  eating  and  commenting. 

"  Randal  did  not  give  us  a  very  favourable  speci- 
men of  his  powers  this  morning,  did  he?  But,  of 
course,  he  had  to  get  it  up  in  a  hurry,  and  under 
the  circumstances  one  ought  not  to  be  hard  upon 
him." 

Again  she  looks  at  him  in  nervous  doubt.  To 
which  set  of  circumstances  does  he  allude — the 
sudden  call  upon  the  curate's  oratory  or  the  state 
of  his  affections?  A  slight  smile  determines  the 
point,  and  makes  the  listener  feel  an  indignation 
which  the  presence  of  the  servants  in  the  room 
compels  her  to  bottle,  and  thereby  intensify. 
They  are  no  sooner  gone  than  her  ire  finds  vent 
in  words. 

"  I  should  have  thought  that  at  this  moment  you 
were  the  last  person  who  had  a  right  to  laugh  at 
him." 

He  looks  up,  grave  at  once.  "  Are  our  cases 
quite  parallel  ones?     I  can  keep  a  wife." 

"  So  can  he,  perhaps,  if  he  chooses  one  who 
does  not  care  about  much  keeping.*' 

The  words  frighten  her  as  soon  as  they  are  ut- 

42 


FOES   IN    LAW  43 

tered.  Do  not  they  seem  to  reflect  by  contrast 
on  her  brother's  choice?  But,  with  his  usual  wise 
slowness  to  notice  missiles,  whether  brickbats  or 
pellets,  which,  if  aimed  at,  do  not  hit  him,  he  passes 
her  retort  by.  No  offence  for  himself  tinges  the 
affectionate  fear  for  her  written  all  over  his  broad 
face. 

"  You  do  not  look  as  if  you  were  joking;  but 
you  cannot  be  serious!  " 

"Cannot  I?" 

Her  answer  so  deepens  the  alarm  in  his  look  that 
she  perversely  expands  her  theme. 

"  Though  I  have  been  luxuriously  brought  up,  I 
am  not  naturally  luxurious.     I  could  live  decently 

upon    a    small    income    with    a    person    I " 

"  Loved,"  she  was  going  to  say,  but  the  verb  re- 
fuses to  produce  itself. 

"  With  a  person  you " 

"With  a  person  I — I  got  on  well  with." 

The  excessive  baldness  of  her  climax  relaxes  the 
tension  of  his  face  into  a  slight  smile. 

"  If  you  have  no  better  reason  than  that  to 
give  for  leaving  me " 

"  Have  not  you  filled  my  place?  " 

He  glances  round  the  large  room  with  an  ex- 
pression of  perturbed  surprise  ruffling  his  deep 
placidity. 

"  Is  not  there  room  enough  for  you  both?  " 

She  has  often  felt  tried  by  her  brother's  limita- 
tions. His  present  inability  to  see  the  gigantic 
object  that  blocks  her  own  vision  lands  her  in  help- 
less silence. 

"  If  I  had  ten  wives  it  would  make  no  difference. 
This  is  your  home  until  you  marry." 


44  FOES   IN   LAW 


"  I  shall  never- 


The  formula  has  sprung  mechanically  to  her 
lips  for  so  long  that  now  it  has  nearly  reappeared 
before  she  remembers  that  it  has  lost  all  its  mean- 
ing. 

"  Well,  then,  till  you  die." 

She  knows  it  is  not  true;  yet  this  evidence  of  how 
little  she  is  ousted  from  his  strong  heart  soothes 
her  soreness. 

"  Have  you  broken  it  to  Miss  Kergouet?  " 

"  There  was  no  question  of  breaking.  You 
*  break  *  only  bad  news." 

"  How  did  she  take  it?    What  did  she  say?  " 

He  leans  back  his  head,  and  looks  up  as  one 
who  would  rapturously  recover  an  utterance  issued 
from  the  skies. 

"  She  said,  *  The  more  the  merrier! '  " 

Miss  Trent  shudders.  The  more  the  merrier! 
That  means  that  henceforth  she  herself  is  to  be 
only  one  of  the  Comus  rout  that  are  rushing  with 
lewd  pipes  and  cymbals  to  invade  the  immemorial 
quiet  of  her  home  !  But  for  the  outrage  of  the 
morning's  sermon,  what  a  holy,  happy  spot  the 
lodging  over  the  cheesemonger's  would  now  ap- 
pear !  As  it  is,  wherever  she  looks  abroad  there  is 
nothing  but  blackness. 

While  the  days  go  on  relentlessly  towards  her 
doom,  the  Comus  rout  looms  larger  and  the  pulpit 
insult  less.  She  has  abstained  from  evening 
church  on  the  fateful  Sunday,  and  avoided  the 
village  and  the  haunts  most  frequented  by  Cheve- 
ning  on  the  following  day.  Her  pains  are  appar- 
ently superfluous,  since  he  makes  no  effort  to  see, 
nor  does  he  write,  to  her. 


FOES   IN   LAW  45 

By  Saturday  the  agitation  of  her  own  mind  and 
the  consciousness  of  her  foreboding  as  to  the  state 
of  his  are  more  than  she  can  bear,  and  on  the  after- 
noon of  that  day  she  drives  her  little  pony-cart 
through  the  brooding  vapour  and  copper  and 
orange  glories  of  the  park  to  the  Vicaragej  hoping 
to  combine  the  gaining  some  news  of  the  object  of 
her  misgiving  with  the  necessary  visit  of  con- 
dolence on  the  death  of  the  vicar's  mother.  She 
meets  the  vicar  himself,  as  she  turn  in  at  the  gate, 
and  he  escorts  her  into  the  house,  apologizing  as 
he  does  so  for  his  wife's  absence. 

"  She  has  a  headache — one  of  her  worst." 

He  says  it  with  a  melancholy  pride.  Each  of  us 
has  his  or  her  pet  glory,  and  Mr.  Taylor,  though 
the  meekest  of  men  and  lowliest  of  Christians,  finds 
his  in  the  unsurpassable  ferocity  of  his  wife's  sick- 
headaches. 

"  I  am  so  sorry  !  I  only  came  in  just  to  say 
how  much  I  sympathize — how  grieved  I  was  to 
hear  of  your  loss." 

"  Thank  you." 

"  I  scarcely  expected  that  you  would  be  back 
yet." 

He  sighs  patiently.  "  It  would  certainly  have 
been  more  convenient  to  me  to  prolong  my  ab- 
sence over  to-morrow,  as  I  had,  of  course,  a  good 
deal  of  business  to  transact  in  connection  with  my 
dear  mother's  affairs;  but  I  had  a  letter  from 
Chevening,  written  evidently  in  such  a  state  of 
mental  distress,  and  representing  his  need  for  im- 
mediate change  as  so  urgent  that  I  thought  it  best 
to  return." 

This  explanation,   though  given  without   any 


46  FOES   IN    LAW 

parade  of  complaint,  reduces  the  condoling  visitor 
to  a  wide-eyed  silence.  Shock  at  the  utter  selfish- 
ness of  her  lover's  action  has  time  to  subside,  or 
perhaps  rather  to  deepen  into  dread  misgiving  as 
to  the  condition  of  a  mind  which  can  so  forget  the 
charities,  and  even  humanities  of  life  before  she 
asks  without  flagrant  faltering — 

"Is  he  gone?" 

"  He  went  this  morning.  At  the  last  moment 
he  seemed  reluctant,  and  offered  to  take  all  the 
services  for  me  to-morrow,  but  I  insisted  on  his 
getting  away  at  once.  To  tell  you  the  trutij^,  I 
thought  he  was  on  the  verge  of  a  complete  nervous 
breakdown  ! " 

The  good  man's  eyes  are  fixed  upon  Miss 
Trent,  as  eyes  naturally  rest  on  an  object  immedi- 
ately before  them,  but  to  her  guilty  consciousness 
there  is  meaning  and  condemnation  in  their  gaze. 

"Indeed?  It  is  rather  hard  upon  you — ^just 
now,  too." 

"  Oh,  I  dare  say  work  is  the  best  thing  for  me; 
and  he  would  not  have  been  any  help  to  me  in  his 
present  state/' 

The  visitor  receives  this  last  unintended  arrow 
full  in  her  breast,  and  its  sting  makes  her  tighten 
her  lips  and  throw  her  eyes  on  the  Art  Kidder  that 
carpets  the  Vicarage  drawing-room. 

"  He  has  never  been  quite  in  his  element  here," 
pursues  the  vicar,  with  a  rather  distressed  wrinkle 
on  his  forehead.  "  He  has  always  felt  himself 
thrown  away.     With  his  gift " 

Mr.  Taylor  pauses  in  surprise  at  the  slight  con- 
tortion which,  at  the  mention  of  his  curate's  en- 
dowment, passes  over  his  guest's  features;    but, 


FOES   IN    LAW  47 

thinking  he  must  have  been  mistaken,  presently 
goes  on — 

"  The  way  in  which  he  has  filled  the  church  is 
nothing  less  than  phenomenal  !  " 

There  is  a  slightly  rueful,  if  quite  unenvious  ac- 
cent in  the  utterance  of  this  tribute;  yet  he  man- 
fully adds  to  it — 

"  The  number  of  communicants,  too,  is  greatly 
increased/' 

Lcttice  lifts  her  head,  the  reverent  pride  in  her 
priestly  conquest,  which  had  been  her  normal  feel- 
ing, beginning  to  revive. 

"  And  yet  he  thinks  that  he  has  little  effect  or 
influence  in  the  parish  !  " 

The  tone  expresses  admiring  incredulity,  and 
the  vicar  is  but  human. 

"  It  is  chiefly  strangers — the  people  who  come 
out  of  Stanway  and  Bradling  to  hear  him  " — nam- 
ing two  adjacent  manufacturing  towns — "  who  are 
most  impressed  by  him;  but" — conscious  of,  and 
instantly  repentant  for  something  unhandsome  in 
the  turn  of  the  phrase — "  it  is  undoubtedly  a  great 
gift,  a  very  valuable  gift." 

Before  Miss  Trent  leaves  the  Vicarage  she  has 
ascertained  that  the  knowledge  of  her  brother's 
engagement,  and  the  consequent  entire  change  of 
her  own  outlook  on  life,  had  not  reached  the  curate 
before  his  departure.  She  does  not  know  whether 
she  is  relieved  or  disappointed;  relieved  at  not  hav- 
ing at  once  to  find  new  defensive  weapons  against 
him,  the  old  ones  having  snapped  in  two,  or 
disappointed  at  being  no  longer  liable  to  the  shock 
of  that   assault   which   had   given   her   the   most 


48  FOES   IN    LAW 

pungent  sensations,  whether  of  pleasure  or  pain, 
that  fate  has  yet  afforded  her. 

Life  would  be  very  flat  without  him,  if  it  were 
not  for  that  other  subject  of  absorbing  interest, 
which  makes  it  so  much  worse  than  flat.  Yet  even 
with  Miss  Kergouet  and  her  own  soon-to-be-des- 
ecrated home  for  rivals,  Mr.  Chevening  does  not 
take  a  back  seat  in  his  lady's  mind.  There  are  few 
of  her  waking,  and  not  many  of  her  sleeping, 
dreams  from  which  he  is  wholly  absent. 

Life  with  him  would  not  be  a  bed  of  roses — 
poor,  irritable,  high-strung.  Her  bark  would 
have  no  summer  sea  to  sail  on  in  his  company. 
But  what  noble  and  elevating  excitement  there 
would  be  in  breasting  the  storms  and  topping  the 
waves  together  !  And  how  he  loves  her  !  To 
him,  at  all  events,  she  is  indispensable;  there  can  be 
no  mistake  in  this  case  as  there  was  in  that  of  her 
brother.  He  cannot  do  without  her.  Wonderful 
and  awe-inspiring  as  is  the  fact,  it  is  yet  true  that 
health  and  brain-power  are  failing  him  under  the 
mere  terror  of  not  winning  her.  Deprived  of  her, 
he  is  a  wreck.  With  her  at  his  side,  to  what 
heights  may  he  not  soar  !  Her  feelings  do  not 
always  keep  at  this  lofty  level;  but  even  at 
their  lowest,  the  cheesemonger's  lodgings  grow 
more  and  more  to  be  regarded  by  her  in  the 
light  of  a  desirable  and  even  fragrant  refuge. 
How  much  of  this  is  due  to  the  increasing 
bitterness  that  pinches  her  heart,  as  her  span  of 
possession  of  her  old  home  rapidly  dwindles,  she 
does  not  ask  herself. 

Wandering  through  the  familiar  rooms,  pacing 
along  the  hallowed  and  haunted  garden  path§^  she 


FOES   IN    LAW  49 

torments  herself  by  trying  to  forecast  with  what 
monstrosities  of  bad  taste  and  ill-breeding  they  will 
be  disfigured.  It  is  seldom  that  she  can  bring  her- 
self to  frame  a  question  as  to  the  tastes  or  habits  of 
the  family  into  which  she  is  so  soon  to  be  brought 
into  such  close  relationship;  but  whenever  she  does 
so,  the  answer — very  contrary  to  the  utterer's  in- 
tention— sends  them  down  a  peg  lower  in  her  esti- 
mation. Her  brother's  lessening  communicative- 
ness, though  he  always  replies  cheerfully  and 
readily  to  her  grudging  queries,  shows  her  that  he 
is  aware  of  this  result. 

"  I  hope  that  Miss  Kergouet  will  not  think  this 
too  shabby,"  she  says  one  day,  lifting  her  eyes  to 
the  fine  old  Chinese  paper  which  covers  the  walls 
of  the  room  in  which  they  are  sitting.  "I  suppose 
she  is  sure  to  insist  on  the  house  being  entirely 
refurnished." 

"And  /  am  sure  that  she  is  sure  not  to  insist  upon 
anything,"  he  answers,  wisely  laughing  at  what  its 
owner  is  well  aware  is  not  a  pleasantly  turned 
phrase.  "  I  dare  say  she  will  think  a  Uttle  clean 
paint  will  not  do  us  any  harm,  and  there  is  no  de- 
nying that  we  do  need  some  freshening  up." 

His  sister  continues  ruefully  to  regard  the  tall 
tree-trunks  and  branches,  the  gay  flowers  and 
gayer  birds,  whose  beauties  no  picture  is  allowed 
to  obscure;  and,  driven  by  that  impulse  to  say  a 
more  disagreeable  thing  because  one  has  already 
said  a  disagreeable  one,  she  remarks — 

"  Well,  I  hope  she  will  see  her  way  to  sparing 
this  ! " 

It  is  impossible  to  treat  the  observation  as  a 
joke;  but  the  only  indication  Mr.  Trent  gives  of 


50  FOES   IN   LAW 

not  having  relished  it  is  that  he  presently  takes  up 
a  book,  and  the  rest  of  the  evening  is  passed  in 
silence. 

The  full  river  of  his  blissful  expansiveness  has 
seemed  nearly  to  wash  away  her  heart;  yet  when  it 
dwindles  to  a  thin  streamlet  under  the  parching 
influence  of  her  want  of  sympathy,  she  tries  to  set 
it  flowing  again.  On  the  morning  after  the  Chi- 
nese-paper episode  she  obligingly  attempts  an 
amende. 

"  You  have  never  shown  me  Miss  Kergouet*s 
photograph.     I  suppose  you  have  got  one?  " 

"  Yes." 

He  adds  nothing  to  the  monosyllable;  yet,  to  his 
sister's  ear,  it  plainly  conveys  that  life  in  her  ab- 
sence would  be  impossible  without  such  a  stay. 

"  Will  not  you  show  it  to  me?  " 

He  hesitates  for  a  second.  "  If  you  do  not 
mind,  I  think  not.  To  a  person  who  does  not 
know  her,  no  photograph  gives  an  idea  of  her;  the 
colour,  the  life,  the  sparkle " 

He  breaks  ofif,  pulling  himself  up,  as  Lettice  re- 
morsefully divines,  with  a  chilled  recollection  of 
her  reception  of  former  raptures.  As  her  face 
falls,  he  adds  with  a  rather  uneasy  kindliness — 

"  You  will  not  have  long  to  wait  before  you  see 
the  original." 

"  So  she  tells  me." 

His  look  bespeaks  pleased  surprise.  "  She  has 
written  to  you." 

"  Yes;  in  answer  to  a  letter  of  congratulation  I 
sent  her  a  week  ago." 

If  he  perceives  that  this  careful  noting  of  the 
date  of  her  own  communication  implies  reproach 


FOES   IN   LAW 


SI 


at  the  tardiness  of  the  rejoinder,  he  shows  it  only 
by  an  indulgent  laugh. 

"  She  is  always  a  most  reluctant  scribe." 

Miss  Trent  draws  a  letter  from  her  pocket. 
"Would  you  like  to  see  it?" 

"  If  you  do  not  mind  showing  it  to  me." 

She  puts  it  into  his  hand,  and  watches  him  cov- 
ertly while  he  reads  it.  To  herself  it  had  seemed 
a  deplorable  production — the  handwriting  half- 
educated,  the  phrasing  slipshod  and  vulgar,  and 
one  sentence  disgraced  by  a  flagrant  fault  in  spell- 
ing. She  knows  exactly  the  spot  on  the  second 
page  where  that  slip  occurs,  and  expects,  half  in 
dread,  half  in  malicious  anticipation,  the  look  of 
shame  and  annoyance  that  will  surely  cross  his 
features  when  he  reaches  it. 

But  he  has  reached  and  passed  it,  with  no  sign 
of  a  cloud  dimming  his  brilliant  satisfaction,  and  it 
is  with  a  distinct  note  of  triumph  that  he  gives  the 
letter  back. 

"  And  she  means  every  word  she  says!  " 

The  idea  that  her  upstart  supplanter's  expres- 
sions of  pleasure  in  the  prospect  of  their  future  re- 
lationship could  possibly  be  insincere  had  never  oc- 
curred to  Lettice;  and  the  suggestion  ruffles  her  so 
much  that  she  cannot  resist  shooting  one  shaft. 

"  I  suppose  that  Miss  Kergouet  has  been  edu- 
cated chiefly  in  France?  " 

"Yes;  I  believe  that  she  speaks  French  quite 
as  well  as  she  does  English." 

"  That  would,  no  doubt,  not  be  difflcult,"  is  the 
sister's  inward  comment;  but  her  arrow  having 
completely  missed  its  mark,  she  prudently  keeps 
the  rest  of  her  stock  in  her  quiver  for  future  use. 


52  FOES   IN   LAW 

She  has  not,  after  all,  much  opportunity  for  em- 
ploying them,  as — partly,  perhaps,  to  avoid  them, 
but  chiefly  through  the  waxing  strength  of  the  en- 
chantment that  binds  him — her  brother  is  less  and 
less  at  home. 

And  the  little,  dark  days  draw  in  and  in,  draw 
on  and  on,  galloping  murkily  to  the  now  inevitable 
goal.  Lettice  has  not  realized  how  much  hope  she 
has  nourished  of  some  thunderbolted  God  descend- 
ing, some  earth-splitting  or  flood  rising  to  avert 
the  catastrophe,  until  the  small  details  of  prepara- 
tion bring  home  to  her  that  neither  God  nor  man 
has  any  intention  of  interposing.  Her  last  flicker 
of  hooe  dies  out  on  that  day  when  she  sees  her 
bridesmaid's  dress  laid  out  on  the  bed. 

"  It  does  not  look  much  like  you,  *m!  "  says  the 
maid,  hold-cheaply,  picking  up  a  scrap  of  the  fabric 
between  her  finger  and  thumb.  "  Will  you  try  it 
on  at  dressing-time  to-night?  " 

"I  will  not  try  it  on  at  all!"  Then,  noting  a 
something  too  much  of  sympathy  in  her  attend- 
ant's eye,  she  adds  shortly,  "  There  is  no  need. 
It  is  sure  to  be  all  right!  " 

Only  a  week  now  parts  her  from  the  imminent 
calamity. 

"  Marie  wants  you  to  go  down  a  day  earlier 
than  you  propose,"  her  brother  says  that  same 
evening. 

"As  the  wedding  is  on  the  15th,  will  not  it  be 
soon  enough  for  me  to  arrive  on  the  14th?  " 

"  If  you  do  not  mind,  she  wants  you  to  come  on 
the  13th." 

"  That  we  may  have  twenty-four  hours  in  which 
to  make  acquaintance?     Oh,  certainly." 


FOES   IN   LAW  53 

"  It  IS  not  only  that;  she  wants  to  have  a  sort  of 
rehearsal  of  the  ceremony  in  the  church  on  the  day 
before." 

"  A  rehearsal  in  a  church!    That  sounds  rather 


"Theatrical,"  she  is  going  to  say;  but  recollect- 
ing in  time  that  an  allusion  to  the  ostensible  pro- 
fession with  which  the  bride's  mother  had  coupled 
a  less  proclaimable  one  is  scarcely  judicious,  she 
breaks  ofif.  It  may  be  that  his  thought  follows 
hers,  for  a  correction  of  the  phrase  follows  more 
briskly  than  is  the  wont  of  his  slow  speech. 

"  Rehearsal  was  not  the  right  word.  I  ought 
not  to  have  used  it.  She  only  wants  just  to  prac- 
tice the  procession — you  know,  it  is  to  be  rather  a 
big  aflfair — so  that  there  may  be  no  hitch  upon  the 
15th." 

"  I  see/' 


CHAPTER  V 

The  13th  of  December  arrives,  and  the  deposed 
sovereign  leaves  her  home  for  the  last  time  as  its 
mistress.  There  has  been  nothing  to  break  her 
fall — no  previous  dismantling,  or  even  lesser  al- 
teration— since  the  master  of  the  house  has  de- 
cided that  all  changes  shall  await  the  will  of  the 
new  queen.  The  rooms  through  which  Lettice 
walks,  taking  solemn  good-bye,  greet  her  with 
their  familiar  air  of  mellow  gentlehood,  unsuspi- 
cious of  the  red  ruin  that  awaits  them. 

"  But  for  the  *  rehearsal '  I  might  have  had  one 
more  day,"  she  says  to  herself,  an  acrid  tear  steal- 
ing into  either  eye. 

As  she  advances  on  her  journey,  and  the  well- 
known  stations  of  the  often-travelled  railway-line 
rapidly  succeed  each  other,  her  express  hurling 
itself  past  them,  her  regrets  yield  somewhat  to  a 
rueful  curiosity.  What  will  her  first  impression  be 
— worse  than  what  imagination  has  bodied  forth? 
To  be  worse  would  be  scarcely  possible;  yet  to  be 
better  is,  in  the  highest  degree,  improbable.  As 
so  often  before,  but  with  even  greater  vividness  of 
presentment,  the  personages  of  the  drama  into 
which  she  has  been  pitch-forked  pass  before  her 
mind's  eye — the  terrible  protagonist,  with  her  "lit- 
tle-milliner "  prettiness,  and  her  heart-breaking 
"  sparkle,"  probably  desolatingly  determined  to  be 

54 


FOES   IN   LAW  55 

sisterly;  the  blear-eyed  old  debauchee  of  a  father; 
the  elder  brother,  who  is  "  something  "  in  a  bank 
— she  has  never  demeaned  herself  to  inquire  what 
— (he  will  probably  end  by  robbing  the  till);  the 
actress-sister,  who  needlessly  veils  her  total  ob- 
scurity on  the  stage  by  a  nom-de-thedtre ;  and  the 
background  filled  with  a  rabble  of  disorderly  juve- 
niles! 

A  journey  to  an  unwelcome  goal  always  seems 
brief;  and  Euston's  platform  and  line  of  expectant 
porters  surprise  her  by  their  too-soon  appearing. 
The  drive  across  London,  though  her  horse  is 
slow  and  lame,  is  also  over  too  soon;  and  Victoria 
— the  very  ante-chamber  to  the  place  of  torment — 
reached  before  she  had  thought  it  possible.  Here, 
at  all  events,  she  has  the  distraction  of  an  enforced 
change  of  idea.  No  lady's-maid  who  respects  her- 
self is  ever  known  to  arrive  at  a  new  place  except 
genteelly  labouring  under  a  sick-headache;  nor  is 
Miss  Trent's  any  exception  to  this  golden  rule. 
In  humanely  ministering  to  her  sufferings,  in  prop- 
ping her  limp  back  with  rugs,  in  arranging  her 
with  her  face  to  the  engine,  and  letting  down  the 
window  of  the  railway-carriage  to  give  her  air, 
Lettice,  for  a  few  moments,  forgets  the  abhorred 
goal  at  which  that  railway-carriage  is  to  land  her. 

She  is  congratulating  herself  on  having  the  com- 
partment to  herself  and  her  invaHd,  when,  the 
guard's  whistle  having  already  blown,  and  the 
train  on  the  very  edge  of  movement,  a  breathless 
porter,  staggering  under  the  load  of  countless  par- 
cels, small  and  great,  flings  open  the  door,  and  a 
young  lady  vaults  in.  The  laden  porter  follows; 
and  by  the  time  that  her  packages  are  piled  in  the 


56  FOES   IN   LAW 

netting  and  under  and  over  the  three  available 
seats  the  train  is  in  quickish  motion,  and  Lettice 
catches  her  breath  as  the  man  jumps  dangerously 
out. 

The  intruder  gives  a  sigh  of  relief  at  her  accom- 
plished feat,  clears  her  own  seat  of  some  "  uncon- 
sidered trifles  '*  that  encumber  it,  and  is  about  to 
settle  down  in  her  corner,  when  her  eye  falls  on  the 
open  window.  In  a  second  she  is  across  the  car- 
riage, and,  with  an  airy  "  You  don't  mind?  "  be- 
gins to  pull  up  the  sash. 

Lettice  lays  her  hand  decisively  upon  the  top. 
"  Excuse  me,  but  this  poor  woman  is  ill.  She 
must  have  air." 

"  Air!     On  the  13th  of  December?  " 

"  It  is  milder  than  many  days  in  April;  and,  in 
the  case  of  a  sick-headache " 

"  Sick-headaches  ought  to  have  reserved  car- 
riages! "  retorts  the  young  lady,  half-laughing,  yet 
with  undeniable  rudeness.  But  she  does  not  in- 
sist, and  confines  her  protest  to  rolling  herself  up 
like  a  hedgehog  in  her  wraps,  and  ostentatiously 
closing  her  own  ventilator. 

Lettice  shoots  a  glance  of  wondering  indigna- 
tion at  such  discourtesy;  and  the  wonder,  if  not  the 
indignation,  deepens  as  she  realizes  the  extreme 
youth  and  attractiveness  of  the  criminal.  By  her 
look  she  cannot  have  reached  twenty  years;  and 
her  prettiness  is  of  that  decided  and  excessive  kind 
concerning  which  there  can  be  no  two  opinions. 
A  beauty  she  undoubtedly  is;  a  lady,  despite  her 
behaviour,  she  may  be,  though  not  inevitably  so. 
Her  dress,  in  its  gay  inexpensiveness,  hints  of  a 
doubtful  fatherhood  between  France  and  Bohemia. 


FOES  IN   LAW  57 

She  meets  Miss  Trent's  look  with  one  of  frank  ill- 
humour  and  defiance,  under  which  there  yet  seems 
to  lurk  an  indication  to  laugh — of  repentance  or 
remorse  not  a  trace. 

No  further  verbal  amenities  pass  during  the  half- 
hour  which  elapses  before  Wimbledon  is  reached; 
and  at  that  station  Miss  Trent's  attention  is  too  en- 
tirely occupied  in  propping  her  flaccid  maid  and 
looking  after  her  own  luggage  for  her  to  lay  much 
stress  on  the  fact  that  her  fellow-traveller  is  also 
getting  out. 

With  the  help  of  a  porter,  Lettice  has  hoisted  the 
sufferer,  who  has  given  way  with  the  completeness 
common  to  her  class,  into  a  fly,  and  is  telling  the 
address  to  the  cabman — Acacia  Lodge,  St.  Luke's 
Road — when  she  is  aware  of  her  adversary  once 
more  at  her  elbow.  No  sooner  have  the  words 
left  her  lips,  than,  to  her  great  surprise,  she  sees 
the  latter  coming  up  to  her  with  outstretched  hand 
and  a  radiant  smile. 

"  You  must  be  Lettice?  " 

The  revelation — and  yet  why  had  not  she 
guessed  it  all  along? — is  too  sudden;  and  for  a 
moment  the  offered  fingers  in  their  very  time-worn 
Suede  glove  remain  untaken,  and  Lettice  stands, 
one  solid  block  of  ice.  Then  she  bethinks  herself, 
though  the  remembrance  of  the  recent  incivility 
and  the  shock  of  the  present  discovery  are  too  po- 
tent to  allow  of  her  concocting  much  of  a  smile  to 
accompany  her  stiff  little  sentence. 

"  And  you  are  Miss  Kergouet?  '* 

The  formality  of  the  phrase,  following  upon  the 
glibness  with  which  her  own  Christian  name  has 
been    pronounced,    cannot    be    looked    upon    a§ 


58  FOES  IN   LAW 

other  than  a  snub;  but  the  bride-elect,  if  she  takes 
her  revenge,  takes  it  gaily. 

"I  am;  but  I  shall  not  be  for  long." 

She  laughs;  and  for  a  moment  they  stand  taking 
stock  of  each  other. 

"  I  cannot  think  why  I  did  not  guess  it,"  says 
Miss  Trent,  in  a  chilly,  low  key,  "  for  you  are  al- 
most exactly  what  I  expected." 

Since  the  idea  of  her  future  sister-in-law  has  been 
derived  wholly  from  the  rhapsodies  of  a  besotted 
lover,  this  might  pass  muster  as  a  compliment;  but 
it  does  not  convey  the  impression  of  one. 

"  My  photographs  do  not  give  much  idea  of 
me. 

In  the  mouth  of  one  less  lovely  the  words  might 
sound  fatuous;  but  it  would  be  so  very  difficult  for 
Miss  Kergouet  to  think  herself  prettier  than  she  is, 
that  in  her  it  is  only  a  plain  statement  of  fact. 

"  My  brother  has  never  shown  me  your  photo- 
graph." 

The  other  gives  a  little  shrug.  "  That  was  un- 
lucky as  it  turns  out! "  Then,  with  a  slight  laugh 
that  might  mean  to  be  propitiatory — "  I  dare  say 
we  shall  go  on  better  than  we  began.  Jim  ought 
to  have  told  me  how  very  fond  of  air  you  are." 

The  accusation  is  not  a  grave  one,  and  yet  there 
is  something  in  the  turn  of  the  phrase  that  irritates 
inexpressibly  her  to  whom  it  is  addressed;  the 
tone  of  rather  fault-finding  ownership  in  which  she 
alludes  to  her  /iance  not  the  least.  Nothing  can  be 
stififer  than  her  rejoinder. 

"  It  was  a  case  of  common  humanity." 

The  implication  that  the  quality  alluded  to  has 
not  been  displayed  by  her  interlocutor  is  so  un- 


FOES   IN   LAW  59 

mistakable  that  the  latter  can't  avoid  grasping  it. 
She  looks  thoroughly  surprised. 

"  Maids  are  always  sick  travelling,"  she  rejoins 
with  a  large  generality — "  at  least,  so  I  am  told,  for 
I  never  had  one  of  my  own,  and  I  always  say  what 
comes  uppermost." 

Miss  Trent  receives  this  announcement  in  freez- 
ing silence,  and  puts  her  foot  on  the  step  of  her  cab. 

"  I  will  not  offer  to  join  you,"  cries  the  other, 
jauntily  signalling  to  a  hansom;  "  there  would  not 
be  room  for  my  packages  and  yours  " — with  a 
smilingly  malicious  glance  at  the  maid  collapsed  in 
a  corner  of  the  four-wheeler.     "  A  bientot.'* 

"  She  is  much  worse  than  I  expected.  I  did  not 
think  it  possible,  but  she  is.  And  Jim  expects  me 
to  live  with  her! " 

This  is  the  cheerful  turn  to  which  Lettice's  re- 
flections are  set  during  her  half-mile  drive.  One  of 
her  apprehensions  has,  at  least,  not  been  realized, 
that  of  the  exaggerated  sisterly  tenderness  which 
she  has  dreaded  having  to  endure.  She  smiles 
wrathfully.  It  is  for  insolence  and  incivility,  on 
the  contrary,  that  she  should  have  braced  herself. 

Her  adversary  receives  her  on  the  doorstep  of  a 
smallish  commonplace  villa,  with  apparently  not 
the  slightest  remembrance  of  their  past  brush  to 
mar  the  easy  cheerfulness  of  her  welcome. 

"I  am  afraid  you  will  find  us  rather  topsy- 
turvy— that  we  always  are — ^but  more  topsy-turvy 
than  usual  with  the  preparations  for  this  auspicious 
event;  but,  as  I  dare  say  I  shall  only  be  married 
once  in  my  life,  I  was  determined  to  have  a  splash 
wedding;  and  if  you  have  not  got  many  servants, 
that  gives  you  a  good  deal  to  do." 


6o  FOES   IN   LAW 

She  is  walking  along  as  she  talks,  and  the  end 
of  her  sentence  ushers  the  guest  into  a  drawing- 
room,  the  first  glimpse  of  whose  matchless  disorder 
takes  her  breath  away.  It  seems  to  excite  some 
slight  surprise,  even  in  its  mistress's  mind. 

"  Those  wretched  children  have  been  bear-fight- 
ing again,"  she  says  in  an  explanatory  key;  "  but  I 
suppose  I  must  not  be  very  much  down  upon  them, 
they  are  all  so  above  themselves  they  scarcely 
know  what  they  are  doing." 

"  Above  themselves?  " 

"Yes,  at  being  all  together  again;  the  four 
young  ones  only  arrived  from  Paris  on  Saturday. 
Louis  is  at  a  lycee  there,, and  the  others  have  been 
staying  at  a  pension,  kept  by  a  relative  of  dear 
mother's,  for  lessons." 

Miss  Trent  gives  a  stifled  gasp;  but  it  is  not  audi- 
bly that  she  puts  the  question — 

"  Lessons  in  what?  " 

A  few  minutes  later,  to  escape  the  suffocation  of 
constraint  to  hide  what  she  is  undergoing,  Lettice 
suggests  being  shown  to  her  room,  on  the  pretext 
of  having  her  own  unpacking  to  do;  but  her  com- 
panion does  not  encourage  the  idea. 

"  I  assure  you  there  is  no  hurry.  Heaven  knows 
when  we  shall  dine  to-night,  or" — ^laughing — 
"  whether  we  shall  have  any  dinner  at  all." 

A  moment  later,  as  the  other  makes  no  comment 
upon  this  encouraging  statement,  she  adds — 

"  No  doubt  Jim  has  told  you  that  we  do  not 
keep  very  regular  hours." 

"  No,  I  can't  say  that  my  brother  mentioned  it." 

"  He  does  not  seem  to  have  been  very  communi- 
cative— '  poor  old  Jim ! ' — but  he  had  always  rather 


FOES   IN   LAW  6i 

let  somebody  else  do  the  talking  for  him,  would 
not  he?" 

Miss  Trent  shudders.  "  Jim  "  is  bad  enough, 
difficult  enough  to  hear  without  an  irrational  mad- 
ness of  protest,  but  **  poor  old  Jim!  " 

"  He  tried  to  reform  us  at  first;  but,  on  the  con- 
trary, we  are  on  the  high-road  towards  reforming 
him.  If  any  one  is  hungry  or  gets  tired  of  wait- 
ing, there  is  always  a  bit  of  cold  beef,  or  a  pate,  or 
something  on  the  sideboard,  and  he  can  go  in  and 
help  himself." 

It  is  all  said  without  a  trace  of  apology  in  the 
words  or  the  light  high  voice;  but  one  glint  from 
the  sparkling  dark  eyes — in  sparkle  as  in  every- 
thing else  Lettice's  future  relative  far  exceeds  her 
worst  forebodings — makes  the  latter  ask  herself 
whether  there  may  not  be  a  malicious  intentional 
over-colouring  in  the  awful  map  of  Bohemia  thus 
unrolled  before  her  eyes. 

She  answers  in  the  same  spirit,  "  What  a  capital 
plan!" 

"  I  dare  say  we  shall  not  sit  down  much  before 
nine.  Father  can't  be  back  till  late,  nor  Gabriel, 
either." 

"  Gabriel! " 

"  Yes,  Gabriel.  Has  not  Jim  mentioned  him, 
either?  " 

There  is  a  faint  echo  of  resentment  in  the  non- 
chalance of  her  voice. 

"  No,  I  can't  say  that  he  has." 

"H'm!  Well,  Gabriel  is  my  eldest  brother,  and 
the  pick  of  the  basket." 

She  says  it  defiantly,  and  there  is  challenge  in 
her  eye. 


62  FOES   IN   LAW 

Miss  Trent  does  not  take  up  the  gage.  A  horri- 
ble speculation  as  to  whether  the  pick  of  the  basket 
will  feel  himself  entitled  to  make  free  with  her 
Christian  name  and  how  she  shall  stop  him  paralyz- 
ing utterance. 

"  You  will  be  all  together  for  the  last  time,"  she 
says  presently,  forcing  utterance  and  a  friendly 
smile. 

The  other  lifts  her  beautifully  drawn  eyebrows. 

"  For  the  last  time  here,  perhaps."  And  her 
future  sister-in-law  takes  in  with  a  sinking  heart  the 
not  obscure  implication. 

Miss  Kergouet  goes  on.  "  And,  of  course, 
Esmeralda  can^t  get  back  to  dinner." 

"  Esme " 

"  Esmeralda,  my  eldest  sister.  Do  you  mean  to 
say  that  Jim  has  never  mentioned  herf  Well,  I 
must  say  that  he  does  not  seem  to  have  been  very 
forthcoming  about  his  future  relatives!  " 

She  ends  with  a  laugh  that,  though  pretty  and 
rippling,  is  not  quite  good-humoured. 

"  He  has  spoken  of  her  several  times,"  rejoins 
Lettice,  with  a  guilty  consciousness  of  how  often 
her  own  ungovernable  distaste  to  the  topic  has 
dammed  the  current  of  her  brother's  confidences; 
"  but  I  am  afraid  I  had  forgotten  that  her  name 
was " 

"  Esmeralda.  She  was  named  after  dear  mother. 
Her  theatrical  name — perhaps  you  are  not  aware 
that  she  is  on  the  stage  "  (with  a  fine  hint  of  irony 
at  ignorance  so  unlikely) — "  her  theatrical  name  is 
Miss  Poppy  Delafield." 

"  I  do  not  think  " — with  a  lofty  politeness — 
"  that  I  have  ever  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  her." 


FOES   IN    LAW  63 

"  Then  you  cannot  have  been  at  the  Popularity 
lately,"  cries  the  other,  her  lovely  eyes  shining  like 
angry  jewels,  "  or  you  could  not  have  failed  to  no- 
tice her." 

''Miss  Poppy  DclaHcld!  No;  it  is  very  stupid  of 
me,  but  I  am  afraid  I  can't  recall  her." 

"  Oh,  her  name  is  not  oti  the  bills!  "  retorts  Miss 
Poppy's  champion,  with  ostentatious  carelessness, 
as  if  in  the  case  of  so  great  an  artist  such  a  detail 
were  supererogatory.  **  She  has  a  waJk  on  in  A 
Woman's  Danger^  but  she  is  getting  on  splendidly 
all  the  same." 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it." 

"  I  should  have  gone  on  the  stage  too  if  Jim  had 
not  over-persuaded  me  into  marrying  him.  I  told 
him  at  the  time  that  I  did  not  think  he  realized  what 
a  sacrifice  I  was  making  for  him;  but  at  all  events 
I  have  rubbed  it  well  in  since." 

The  camel's  back  breaks.  "  I  think,  if  you  do  not 
mind,  I  will  go  to  my  room." 

Miss  Kergouet  acquiesces  nonchalantly,  and 
having  inducted  her  guest  into  the  desired  bower, 
leaves  her  with  an  equally  nonchalant  explanation 
that  the  room  is  Esmeralda's,  that  it  is  not  im- 
probable that  a  good  deal  of  her  raiment  may  still 
be  lurking  there,  as  well  as  stray  articles  of  her  own 
trousseau;  but  that  on  occasions  of  this  kind  one 
must  be  prepared  to  rough  it  a  little. 

The  shutting  of  the  door  tells  Lettice  that  the 
infinitely  desired  solitude  is  attained;  but  at  first 
she  does  not  seem  to  know  how  to  use  the  precious 
boon.  She  stands  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  with 
her  arms  hanging  down  by  her  sides,  and  her  mouth 
shut  tight  like  a  box.    Her  life  hitherto  has  given 


64  FOES   IN   LAW 

so  little  opening  for  the  exercise  of  angry  passions; 
her  course  has  run  so  smoothly  on  the  wheels  of 
courteous  good  breeding,  that  she  does  not  know 
how  to  deal  with  the  congestion  of  rage  and  dis- 
gust that  is  suffocating  her.  Hardly  conscious  of 
what  she  is  doing,  she  begins  to  repeat  to  herself, 
in  a  voice  of  quiet  fury,  the  phrases  that  had  broken 
down  her  self-command — ''  over-persuaded  me  into 
marrying  him,"  **  did  not  realize  what  a  sacrifice  I 
was  making  for  him,"  "  have  rubbed  it  well  in 
since." 

Pored  over  in  repetition  they  sound  even  more 
monstrous  than  when  airily  shot  out  of  the  mouth 
whose  curved  red  loveliness  fails  to  win  their  par- 
don. 

"  Insufferable  little  upstart!  When  she  ought 
to  be  grovelling  on  her  knees,  thanking  God  that 
Jim  should  have  stooped  to  her!  I  will  tell  her  so. 
She  piques  herself  on  always  saying  what  comes 
uppermost.  I  will  pay  her  the  compliment  of  imi- 
tating her." 

****** 

Somewhere  about  nine  o*clock  a  gong,  violently 
banged  by  an  obviously  amateur  hand,  which  has 
apparently  usurped  the  office  of  the  butler,  tells 
Miss  Trent  that  the  hybrid  meal,  not  very  confi- 
dently promised  by  the  mistress  of  the  house,  is 
actually  served. 

"  I  must  keep  myself  in  hand,"  she  says,  with  a 
farewell  glance  at  her  own  rigid  face  in  the  glass; 
and  so  goes  down,  allowing  herself  no  further  de- 
lay. Arrived  on  the  ground-floor  landing,  she 
looks  in  some  uncertainty  at  the  three  or  four 
pitch-pine  doors  that  open  upon  it,  doubtful  as  to 


FOES   IN   LAW  65 

which  leads  into  the  disorderly  drawing-room,  and 
afraid  of  incautiously  finding  herself  in  the  sanctum 
of  that  as  yet  unknown  horror  the  father  of  the 
family,  or  of  tumbling  into  the  embrace  of  the 
probably  still  more  terrible — since  a  young  vul- 
garian is  a  far  worse  thing  than  an  old  one — eldest 
son  of  the  house.  She  is  not  long,  however,  in 
being  enlightened,  though  the  method  in  which 
the  knowledge  is  brought  to  her  is  not  perhaps 
quite  what  she  would  have  chosen.  A  more  careful 
look  shows  her  that  one  of  the  doors  is  ajar,  and 
through  it  she  catches  a  glimpse  of  a  muslin-clad 
figure  standing  before  the  fire;  and  which,  though 
she  cannot  see  the  whole  of  it,  is  obviously  en- 
twined with  that  of  an  unseen  man,  upon  whose 
shoulder  its  head  is  conjecturally  laid. 

Lettice  hesitates.  Jim  must  have  arrived.  Will 
he  bless  her  for  breaking  in  upon  the  privacy  of  his 
ecstatic  greeting?  That  moment's  vacillation  is 
Miss  Trent's  undoing.  Through  the  half-open 
door  the  high,  piercing,  clear  voice  whose  utter- 
ances have  hitherto  so  very  much  displeased  her  is 
heard  in  the  accents  of  lamentation  and  complaint 
that  yet  have  a  whiff  of  laughter  about  them. 

"  She  is  much  worse  than  I  expected,  and  I  have 
got  to  live  with  her  for  ever  and  ever  and  ever! 
Pretty?  Not  in  the  least.  Poor  old  Jim  in  petti- 
coats." 

The  listener  stands  petrified;  certainly  with  no 
wish  for  further  eavesdropping,  but  turned  to  stone 
by  the  shock  of  what  she  has  heard.  Yet  it  is  her 
very  own  phrase  that  is  returned  upon  her,  "  Much 
worse  than  I  had  expected!  "  And  to  whom  is  the 
confidence  made?    Not  to  Jim,  since  he  would  not 


66  FOES   IN   LAW 

need  to  be  told  that  she  is  not  pretty — that  she  is 
"  poor  old  Jim  in  petticoats." 

Whoever  the  man  may  be,  it  is  impossible  for 
her  to  go  in  and  ascertain — physically  impossible 
that,  in  the  face  of  what  she  has  just  heard,  she 
should  present  herself  to  the  person  whose  unvar- 
nished opinion  of  her  has  just  reached  her  tingling 
ears.  She  turns,  and  runs  upstairs  again;  but  be- 
fore she  can  reach  her  own  room  finds  herself  on 
the  landing  all  but  in  collision  with  a  figure  hastily 
issuing  from  another.    They  jump  apart. 

"  I  beg  ten  thousand  pardons.    Miss  Trent?  '* 

"  Yes." 

For  a  moment  both  are  too  much  taken  aback  to 
speak;  but  a  single  glance  has  explained  to  Lettice 
that  the  tall  spare  personage  against  whom  she  has 
cannoned,  with  his  half-youthful  air  of  ex-belhomme 
and  smart  soldier,  must  be  the  master  of  the  house. 
It  was  not,  then,  to  her  parent  that  Miss  Kergouet 
had  been  detailing  her  woes. 

The  parent  holds  out  his  hand,  but  the  action  is 
marked  by  that  uncertainty  and  diffidence  which 
had  been  so  conspicuously  absent  from  his  daugh- 
ter's manner;  and  the  guest  at  once  thinks  of  the 
cloud  which  in  her  mind  has  always  enveloped  him, 
and  from  which  indeed  he  is  no  more  separable  in 
her  thoughts  than  is  Jupiter  from  his  thunder-bolt 
or  Venus  from  her  cestus.  The  sense  of  his  obvious 
want  of  ease  and  the  consciousness  of  its  cause,  re- 
stores her  to  self-possession. 

"I  heard  a  gong,"  she  says,  "and  supposed " 

"  Of  course,  naturally,"  he  breaks  in  nervously. 
"  It  was  one  of  the  girls  who  sounded  it.     Of 


FOES   IN   LAW  67 

course,  she  had  no  business;  but  they  are  in  such 
spirits— quite  out  of  hand  to-night." 

The  thought  of  the  cause  which  has  driven  the 
cadets  of  Kergouet  to  let  out  their  exuberant  joy 
in  beating  tom-toms  Hke  savages,  stiffens  Miss 
Trent's  muscles. 

"  Perhaps  I  am  too  early?  "  she  says,  with  a  not- 
consciously  ironical  look  at  a  cuckoo  clock  on  the 
stairs,  which,  however,  refuses  to  incriminate  its 
owner  by  the  simple  method  of  not  going.  "  Miss 
Kergouet  told  me  that  you  were  not  very  strict 
about  hours." 

Something — perhaps  the  formality  of  the  "  Miss 
Kergouet  " — seems  to  heighten  her  companion's 
discomfort. 

"  On  the  contrary,  it  is  we  who  are  late.  I  ought 
to  apologize!    I  am  afraid  we  are  incorrigible." 

He  concludes  his  sentence  by  a  deprecating  offer 
to  show  her  the  way,  and  precedes  her  down  the 
stairs,  ejaculating  as  he  goes  expressions  of  pleas- 
ure at  her  arrival,  and  nervous  assertions  of  Marie's 
eagerness  to  make  her  acquaintance. 


CHAPTER   VI 

Protected  by  the  aegis  of  her  host's  company, 
Lettice  does  really  enter  the  drawing-room  this 
time,  and  the  two  young  women,  who  have  at  least 
agreed  in  one  thing — identity  in  the  expression  of 
their  reciprocal  dislike — stand  once  again  in  each 
other's  presence.  But  the  awkwardness  of  the 
meeting  for  Miss  Trent  is  much  lessened  by  the 
fact  that  the  room  is  now  full  of  figures,  and  the 
noise  of  several  ungoverned  voices  out-shouting 
each  other. 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  new-comer  cannot 
quite  distinguish  which  of  the  closely  linked  loud 
group  could  have  been  the  bride's  confidant,  so 
deeply  is  he  imbedded  in  a  circle  of  younger 
brothers  and  sisters,  who  evidently  see  him  for  the 
first  time  since  their  arrival  from  Paris.  But 
though  Marie  has  to  a  certain  extent  yielded  to  the 
superior  claims  upon  him  of  her  juniors,  she  has 
not  quite  loosed  her  hold,  but  has  her  hand  still 
passed  through  his  arm. 

A  little  shifting  of  the  figures  reveals  that  the 
object  of  so  much  attention  must  be  the  nonpareil 
elder  brother  Gabriel  of  his  sister's  hymn  of  praise, 
the  "  something  in  a  bank  "  of  her  own  hold-cheap 
classification.  The  group  melts,  and  its  component 
parts  are  piloted  to  her  with  anxious  politeness  by 
their  parent. 

68 


FOES   IN    LAW  69 

"  I  think  that  these  children  have  not  as  yet  the 
pleasure  of  knowing  you.  This  is  Gabriel,  these 
are  Muriel  and  Sybil,  this  is  Louis,  and  this  little 
fellow  is  Frank." 

The  introduction  is  immediately  followed  by  the 
rapid  advance  upon  the  guest  of  two  tall  half-grown 
girls,  who,  without  the  slightest  hesitation,  and 
much  to  her  discomfiture,  each  imprint  upon  her 
cheek  a  hard  smacking  kiss;  a  muffish-looking  un- 
English  lad,  with  his  hair  en  brosse,  lays  a  salute 
upon  her  hand,  and  the  infant  Frank,  a  child  of  five 
or  six,  whose  entrance  into  life  must — as  Miss 
Trent  instantly  decides — have  been  coincident  with 
his  mother's  exit  from  it,  extends  to  her  a  hand 
sticky  with  much  chocolate.  The  elder  brother  con- 
tents himself  with  a  bow. 

"  I  suppose  we  may  as  well  go  into  dinner,"  says 
the  young  hostess,  nonchalantly  throwing  the  sug- 
gestion at  the  guest.  "  The  gong  meant  nothing, 
it  was  Syb  who  sounded  it;  but  we  never  have 
things  announced.  Of  course  " — to  her  father — 
"  we  will  not  wait  for  '  The  Freak.*  " 

"  Who  is  The  Freak  f  "  asks  Lettice  of  her  host  a 
minute  later,  when,  having  crossed  the  passage  on 
his  arm,  she  finds  herself  sitting  beside  him  at  the 
dinner-table. 

The  question  is  the  first  outcome  of  a  desperate 
resolve  to  keep  herself  in  hand  and  be  agreeable, 
but  the  person  to  whom  it  is  addressed  seems  to  re- 
ceive it  with  hesitating  embarrassment. 

"  It  is  only  a  silly  joke  of  Marie's,  really  not 
worth  explaining." 

But,  unfortunately,  Marie  has  overheard.  Down 
the  table  come  her  ringing  accents. 


70  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  Jim  is  The  Freak.  I  took  him  to  Barnum's  one 
day,  and  he  is  so  exactly  Hke  one  of  the  fat  men 
there  that  I  have  called  him  '  The  Freak '  ever 
since." 

Miss  Trent  had  asked  for  the  explanation,  so 
cannot  complain  at  having  got  it;  yet  its  unparal- 
leled impertinence  staggers  her  so  much  that  she 
has  only  just  presence  of  mind  left  to  turn  her  blaz- 
ing eyes  upon  her  own  plate,  but  not  before  they 
have  met  those  of  the  young  man  absurdly  called 
Gabriel.  If  he  were  a  member  of  any  other  family 
she  would  say  that  his  expressed  a  respectful  com- 
passion, but  it  is  impossible  that  so  delicate  a  senti- 
ment can  emanate  from  one  of  this  rabble  rout. 

No  awkward  silence  follows  Miss  Kergouet's 
exegesis  of  her  pleasantry,  since  silence  and  the 
younger  Miss  Kergouets  cannot  co-exist.  They 
usurp  the  conversation,  noisily  relating  their  Pari- 
sian experiences,  contradicting  each  other  freely, 
and  only  uniting  to  "  sit  upon  "  the  flaccid  Louis, 
and  pamper  with  unwholesome  delicacies  the  little 
spoilt  Frank.  As  to  appetites,  like  ogres,  they 
unite  voices  like  steam-whistles,  the  rest  of  the 
company  are  relieved  of  the  necessity  of  speech. 

Marie  has  with  Bohemian  ease  put  both  her 
elbows  on  the  table,  and  leaning  one  cheek  against 
her  knitted  hands,  is  carrying  on  an  eager  conver- 
sation with  her  eldest  brother.  Her  high-pitched 
voice  is  tamed  to  almost  a  whisper,  and  she  makes 
no  more  effort  to  mitigate  the  din  around  her  than 
she  would  to  stop  a  thunderstorm  that  had  broken 
over  the  house. 

There  being  no  call  upon  Lettice's  tongue,  and 
the  viands  presented  to  her  offering  no  great  at- 


FOES   IN   LAW  71 

traction  to  her  palate,  Miss  Trent  gives  her  eyes 
free  play,  and  scans  with  no  lenient  glance  the 
family  which — since  it  is  clear  that  he  who  espouses 
one  Kergouet  espouses  all — her  brother  is  in  forty- 
eight  hours  to  wed.  It  is  impossible  to  deny  that 
good  looks  have  been  dealt  out  to  them  with  no 
grudging  hand,  to  Marie  most  lavishly,  to  Gabriel 
perhaps  least. 

Having  made  the  circuit  of  the  family,  she  be- 
gins again  with  him.  Yes,  he  is  certainly  the  least 
regularly  handsome  of  them,  and  yet  if  she  had  to 
decide  which  among  these  detestable  faces  were  to 
force  themselves  upon  her  daily  life,  she  would 
choose  his.  It  has  not  the  self-willed  insolence  of 
Marie's,  nor  the  impudent  aplomb  of  the  younger 
sisters.  In  fact,  she  is  not  quite  sure  that  a  slight 
skirt  of  the  family  cloud — the  cloud  in  which  they 
ought  all  to  be  enwrapped,  and  from  which  most 
of  them  are  so  brazenly  free — does  not  lie  across 
his  features.  His  eyes  are  not  shifty  like  his 
father's;  they  had  met  her  own  full  and  direct  upon 
their  first  introduction,  though  they  have  never 
strayed  towards  her  since,  nor  has  his  manner  the 
uneasy  obsequiousness  of  his  parentis,  and  yet 

"  I  am  afraid  you  find  us  rather  noisy,"  says  her 
host,  breaking  in  upon  her  observations  in  that  de- 
precatory tone  which  she  has  already  charitably 
docketed  as  "  servile." 

He  looks  at  her  out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye — 
the  eye  of  a  reformed  viveur,  which,  however  sin- 
cere and  long-established  the  reformation,  never 
fails  to  tell  ill-natured  tales.  The  poor  man  has  no 
new  sins  to  conceal,  and  his  askance  look  is  due 
only  to  the  fact  that  she  frightens  him  very  much 


72  FOES   IN   LAW 

indeed.  Also  an  experience  stretching  over  many 
years  and  showing  you  the  majority  of  your  ac- 
quaintance invariably  occupied  by  some  object  in 
the  opposite  hedge  when  they  meet  you  in  the  road, 
does  not  conduce  to  making  you  bold-faced. 

"  To  any  one  not  used  to  a  large  family,  I  fear 
we  must  seem  rather  overpowering." 

"  We  are — we  have  been  a  very  humdrum  little 
household,  my  brother  and  I,"  replies  she,  not  able 
to  induce  her  tongue  to  frame  the  monosyllable 
"Jim."    "Ah,  here  he  is!" 

A  smile  of  relief  and  affectionate  pleasure  breaks 
over  her  face,  giving  scope  to  the  only  one  of  the 
Kergouet  family  who  is  at  leisure  for  the  observa- 
tion to  notice  what  a  wide  range  of  expression  she 
can  exhibit,  and  what  very  pretty  teeth  her  hitherto 
pinched  lips  have  hidden.  She  stretches  out  her 
hand  to  the  hasty  figure  who  must  pass  her  to  get 
to  its  vacant  place  beside  the  hostess,  but  it  does 
not  even  perceive  her.  It  is  the  first  time  that  the 
fact  has  been  brought  home  to  her  that  henceforth 
she  will  be  practically  invisible  to  her  brother.  She 
draws  back  her  hand,  but  not  before  she  is  aware 
that  the  same  member  of  the  family  who  had  ob- 
served its  going  out  is  aware  of  its  ignominious  re- 
treat. 

Marie  flings  her  left  hand  to  her  lover  non- 
chalantly, and  says — 

"  Do  not  apologize.  You  know  that  there  is 
nothing  in  the  world  I  hate  so  much  as  punctuality. 
These  are  the  children  " — waving  her  other  hand 
round  the  table. 

At  once  four  chairs  are  pushed  back,  and  the  in- 
nocents  alluded   to   precipitate  themselves   upon 


FOES   IN   LAW  73 

their  future  brother-in-law.  The  girls  lead  the  way, 
and  kiss  him  as  smackingly  and  with  as  matter-of- 
fact  an  absence  of  hesitation  as  they  had  done  his 
sister.  He  must  be  taken  aback,  in  fact,  he  reddens 
a  little,  yet  there  is  no  evidence  that  he  disHkes  the 
assault. 

His  metamorphosis  is  even  more  complete  than 
Lettice  had  known  it  to  be.  The  dinner  is  brought 
back  for  him  in  tepid  instalments,  of  whose  un- 
appetizingness  he  appears  as  unaware  as  he  is  of 
everything  else  that  is  not  Marie.  The  latter  has 
resumed  her  eager  talk  with  her  brother,  despite 
what  Miss  Trent  has  to  admit  to  herself  are  the 
persevering  efforts  of  the  young  man  to  turn  her 
eloquence  into  that  channel  to  which  it  now  rightly 
belongs.  He  does  not  succeed;  but  it  is  probably 
due  to  him  that  she  now  and  then  throws  a  word, 
or  an  eye-flash,  or  a  pat  on  the  coat-sleeve  to  her 
neglected  lover.  The  latter  acquiesces  with  un- 
clouded good  humour,  and  there  is  not  the  faintest 
shadow  on  the  face  he  presents  to  his  sister  when 
he  takes  the  vacant  seat  on  the  sofa  beside  her — a 
seat  upon  which  there  cannot  be  said  to  be  much 
run — in  the  drawing-room  after  dinner. 

"Well?" 

The  monosyllable  is  perfectly  understood  by 
both  to  be  only  a  bid  for  the  praise  he  is  greedy  to 
hear.    Yet  all  she  answers  is  another  "  Well?  " 

He  has  to  dot  his  i's.  "  Is  she  like  what  you  ex- 
pected?" 

"  Exactly,  only  more  so." 

She  has  taken  pains  with  her  tone,  and  ap- 
parently with  success,  for  he  rejoins  warmly — 


74  FOES  TN   LAW 

"  I  knew  that  it  would  be  all  right  when  once 
you  saw  her." 

To  agree  in  £o  erroneous  a  conclusion  or  to  de- 
monstrate its  falsity  are  equally  impossible;  so  she 
embarks  on  another  branch  of  the  subject. 

"  She  seems  very  fond  of  her  own  family." 

"  Wrapped  up  in  them!  It  is  wonderfully  pretty 
to  see  her  with  them,  isn't  it?  They  are  very  at- 
tractive? " — an  inflection  of  anxious  asking.  "  I 
had  not  seen  the  children  before." 

"  No?  " 

"  They  will  wake  us  up,  won't  they?  "  ^ 

"  Are  they  to — to  live  at  Trent?  " 

"  No,  not  live;  of  course,  they  will  be  at  school, 
but  they  are  to  spend  their  holidays  with  us.  I 
promised  her  that  she  should  not  be  parted  from 
them  altogether.    It  would  have  broken  her  heart." 

"  Yes?  " 

"  And  it  will  be  a  good  thing  for  us,  too,  to  have 
a  little  more  life  about  the  house;  we  have  been  a 
bit  sleepy,  haven't  we?  " 

She  does  not  answer,  not  from  ill-temper,  but 
from  heart-fullness.  She  had  imagined  herself  to 
have  modelled  their  life  so  exactly  upon  his  likings. 

"  Ah,  they  are  singing  that  capital  thing  out  of 
The  Ripping  Girl^^  as  a  well-known  music-hall  song 
of  the  moment  comes,  wafted  by  the  conjoined  lung 
and  voice  power  of  the  whole  Kergouet  family, 
from  the  back  drawing-room — 

**  Oh,  why  was  I  left  in  the  cart  ?" 

(humming  delightedly). 

A  moment  later,  unable  to  resist  a  fascination  as 
strong  as  that  of — 


FOES   IN   LAW  75 

'*  My  mother  Circe  and  the  sirens  three 
Among  the  flowery-kirtled  Naiades," 

he  flies  to  join  the  vocal  band. 

Little  inclination  as  she  has  to  do  so,  Lettice 
feels  that  for  the  sake  of  appearances  she  must  fol- 
low his  example,  and  has  half  risen  to  do  so  when 
through  the  plushette  portiere  she  sees  the  heir  of 
the  Kergouets  advancing  to  her  rescue. 

"  I  would  not,  if  I  were  you,'*  he  says,  answering 
her  intention.  **  You  will  be  better  here — a  little 
further  from  our  din." 

She  reseats  herself.  Of  course,  he  will  think  it 
necessary  to  sit  down  by  her;  but,  after  all,  it  is  the 
least  of  two  evils,  and  she  can  keep  him  at  a  proper 
distance.  And  as  to  talk,  the  clamour  from  the 
next  room  has  changed  into  a  confused  bawling. 
In  the  elation  of  her  spirits,  the  terrible  Sybil  is  pro- 
ceeding to  demonstrate  how  well  she  can  play  the 
piano  by  sitting  upon  it,  and  is  being  noisily  hauled 
off  the  keys  by  other  members  of  her  family.  It 
needs  an  excursion  on  the  part  of  the  elder  brother 
to  quell  the  raging  bear-fight.  He  returns  vic- 
torious, and  apparently  not  at  all  ruffled;  but  there 
is  nothing  like  habit. 

"  We  are  not  always  as  bad  as  this;  to-night  it  is 
a  sort  of  Bump  supper." 

"  Because  you  are  Head  of  the  River?  " 

The  form  her  rejoinder  takes  is  caused  only 
by  an  impulse  to  show  that  she  is  up  in  Oxford 
phraseology;  but  the  moment  the  words  are  out 
of  her  mouth  she  sees  the  cynical  irony  of  the  in- 
terpretation they  may  bear.  Is  it  her  fancy  that  he 
gives  a  slight  start? 

"  I  dare  say  you  will  understand  that  if  we  were 


76  FOES   IN   LAW 

not  in  such  very  high  spirits,  we  might  be  in  very 
low  ones." 

"  Why?  " 

"  We  are  very  glad  that  you  should  have  her  " 
— glancing  towards  the  piano — "  but  we  can  hardly 
be  said  to  be  glad  to  lose  her." 

Even  Miss  Trent  can  find  nothing  servile  in  this 
remark,  nor  do  either  words  or  tone  betray  any 
consciousness  of  the  magnificence  of  the  bargain 
struck  by  the  Kergouet  family.  An  indistinct  sense 
of  apprehension  that  she  will  not  be  able  to  despise 
him  with  as  comfortable  a  completeness  as  she  does 
his  father  makes  curt  her  next  speech. 

"  You  will  doubtless  still  see  a  great  deal  of  her." 

"  That  is  not  quite  the  same  thing  as  living  to- 
gether." 

This  is  indisputable. 

"  And  personally  I  shall  not  see  a  great  deal  of 
her,  as  I  have  only  a  month's  holiday  in  the  year." 

That  he  has  divined  Lettice's  attitude  of  mind 
towards  his  family  is  conveyed  by  his  telling  her 
the  fact  in  a  tone  which  shows  that  he  thinks  he  is 
giving  her  a  welcome  piece  of  information.  Her 
drooping  brow  clears  but  little,  yet  he  pursues  in 
the  same  strain. 

"  Esmeralda — she  is  my  eldest  sister — is  very 
much  tied  by  her  profession,  she  is  not  often  free; 
the  children  have  other  relations  who  will  want 
them  for  a  good  part  of  their  holidays;  and  my 
father  scarcely  ever  pays  visits." 

In  the  watches  of  the  subsequent  night,  Miss 
Trent  asks  herself  with  uneasy  astonishment  what 
could  have  prompted  her  to  do  it;  but  at  this  point, 
having  hitherto  been  sitting  looking  unfriendlily 


FOES   IN   LAW  77 

straight  before  her,  she  turns  her  whole  face  sud- 
denly upon  the  young  man. 

"  Why  are  you  telling  me  all  this?  '* 

There  is  a  moment's  pause,  though  something 
whispers  her  it  is  not  of  hesitation,  on  his  part. 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  need  answer  that  ques- 
tion? " 

She  feels  herself  changing  colour.  "  Do  not 
questions  generally  expect  an  answer?  " 

"  Well,  then,  I  did  it  to  relieve  your  mind." 

The  response  that  she  has  insisted  upon  makes 
her  extremely  angry.  He  whom  she  had  mentally 
determined  to  keep  in  his  proper  place,  well  at  a 
distance,  has  evaded  her  guard,  and  got  close  up 
to  her;  though  by  no  means  in  the  way  she  had 
apprehended. 

He  has  done  a  worse  thing  still,  for  he  has  made 
her  feel  excessively  small. 

"  I  suppose  that  Miss  Kergouet "  she  be- 
gins, then  pulls  up  short,  recalling  with  confusion 
the  means  by  which  she  has  learnt  her  future  sister- 
in-law's  opinion  of  her. 

He  merely  repeats,  "  Miss  Kergouet,"  as  if  it 
were  a  lesson  in  dictation  that  she  were  giving  him; 
but  she  divines  the  governed  indignation  with 
which  he  receives  the  slight  to  his  sister  implied  in 
the  shirking  of  her  Christian  name. 

She  replies  unnecessarily  to  the  guessed  re- 
proach. 

"  You  must  remember  that  I  have  never  seen  her 
till  to-day,  and  if  you  knew  me  you  would  under- 
stand that  I  do  not  easily  grow  intimate  with  peo- 
ple." 

"  Without  knowing  you,  I  understand  it." 


78  FOES   IN    LAW 

She  turns  over  in  her  angry  mind  whether  this  is 
not  an  impertinence;  but  before  she  can  decide  he 
speaks  again. 

"  Marie  has  told  me " 

"  Yes,  I  know." 

The  red  haste  with  which  she  interrupts  him  fills 
him  with  surprise. 

"  What  do  you  know?  " 

But  Lettice  has  lost  her  head.  A  hundred  years 
ago  she  would  have  been  said  to  *'  arch  her  neck." 
In  1900  she  merely  pulls  it  out  like  a  telescope. 

"  I  know  that,  highly  as  her  expectations  were 
raised,  she  has  found  me  far  worse  than  she  ex- 
pected. Her  voice  is  very  clear,  and  I  was  unfor- 
tunately close  to  the  door  of  the  room  when  you 
were  discussing  me." 

If  her  object  were  to  put  Kergouet  out  of  coun- 
tenance, she  certainly  succeeds;  and  yet  somehow 
he  still  seems  to  get  the  better  of  her. 

"  I  must  return  your  question  upon  you.  Why 
have  you  told  me  this?  " 

"  I  had  no  intention  of  telling  you.  I  do  not 
know  why  I  have  done  so  now.  After  all,  you  were 
not  to  blame.  You  are  not  responsible  for  your 
sister's " 

"  I  am  quite  willing  to  be  responsible  for  her." 

They  look  at  each  other  combatively,  and  yet 
with  a  contradictory  sense  of  dawning  reciprocal 
attraction.  If  he  were  not  a  Kergouet,  I  should 
like  him  for  standing  up  for  his  sister,  is  the  girl's 
grudging  thought;  and.  How  extremely  objection- 
able she  is  making  herself;  but  what  did  Marie 
mean  by  saying  that  she  was  not  good-looking? 
is  the  no  less  unwilling  reflection  of  the  man. 


FOES   IN   LAW  79 

The  once  more  swelling  mirth  in  the  back  room, 
though  neither  interlocutor  is  conscious  of  hearing 
it,  fills  up  the  stormful  pause,  and  gives  Lettice  time 
to  regain  something  of  self-control. 

"  It  would  have  been  better  taste  not  to  have 
mentioned  it.'* 

The  proud  humility  of  the  admission  affects  him 
with  a  compunction  so  great  that  he  himself  feels 
it  to  be  out  of  drawing.  But  he  has  the  sense  not 
to  try  to  explain  away  the  unexplainable.  Yet  he 
must  manage  to  put  something  mollifying  into  his 
silence,  for  her  neck — it  is  longer  than  is  fashion- 
able, but  he  likes  it — begins  to  carry  her  head  less 
inimically  erect,  and  that  head — oh  that  Marie's 
hair  were  ever  so  exquisitely  neat ! — has  something 
of  a  rueful  droop. 

"  We  began  badly.  Without  knowing  who  I 
was,  she  was  very  rude  to  me  in  the  train." 

"And  you?" 

"I?" 

"  Were  you  rude  too?  " 

"  She  has  told  you  that  I  was?  " 

The  unfashionable  white  column  of  her  throat 
is  going  to  fell  him  again. 

"  You  answer  my  question  by  another." 

"  I  was  not  rude.  I  had  to  protect  my  unfortu- 
nate maid;  but  I  was  not  rude!  I  am  never  rude! 
It  would  be  contrary  to  all  the  traditions  of  my 
family  to  be  so." 

"  Yes?  " 

There  is  no  hint  of  unbelief  in  his  monosyllable, 
nor  any  raising  of  an  eyebrow;  yet  she  knows  that 
he  is  perfectly  unconvinced  of  her  immutable 
civility. 


8o  FOES  IN   LAW 

"  You  imply  that " 

"  I  imply  nothing.  I  am  not  fond  of  implica- 
tions." Miss  Trent  laughs  angrily.  "  We  are  each 
singing  our  own  praises  rather  absurdly." 

He  leans  back  against  the  sofa-cushions,  with  his 
hands  knit  behind  his  head,  and  gives  a  tired  sigh. 

"  She  is  overdone  and  run  down,  and  sorry  to 
leave  us;  but  I  suppose  all  that  will  not  count  for 
much  with  you.  First  impressions  are  everything, 
and  you  will  go  through  life  seeing  her  with  your 
mind's  eye  perpetually  pulling  up  windows  that 
you  wish  to  put  down." 

Stated  thus,  the  case  for  the  prosecution  seems  a 
ludicrously  bad  one,  and  the  prosecutor  feels  it. 

"  You  are  determined  to  put  me  in  the  wrong." 

"  You  are  mistaken.  I  have  no  wish  to  put  you 
in  the  wrong.  I  should  like  to  put  you  in  good 
humour  with  us  all,  if  I  only  knew  how — for  Marie's 
sake." 

She  looks  at  him  thoughtfully  with  a  kindling 
cheek  at  that,  and  a  series  of  blue  comparisons  with 
her  eyes  runs  irrelevantly  through  his  head. 

"  Do  you  expect  me  to  bully  her  very  much?  " 

"  At  first,  perhaps,  until  you  get  used  to  her." 

The  honesty  of  his  answer  forbids  her  face  to 
cool. 

"  At  first!  "  she  repeats.  "  Well,  there  will  be  no 
at  last.  I  can  relieve  your  mind,  as  you  said  just 
now  that  you  wished  to  do  mine.  I  am  not  going 
to  live  with  them." 

The  joy  she  had  expected  to  read  in  the  face  near 
her  is  less  apparent  than  its  surprise. 

"  I  had  understood  differently.  I  thought  that 
your  brother  refused  to  part  with  you." 


FOES   IN   LAW  8i 

"  I  am  of  age." 

A  pause.  The  master-spirit,  and  the  master- 
lungs  of  Miss  Sybil  have  again  won  the  victory  in 
the  adjoining  room,  but  this  time  her  elder  brother 
allows  her  to 

••  Fill  the  air  with  barbarous  dissonance  " 

unreproved. 

"  Marie  has  not  an  idea  that  she  is  turning  you 
out." 

"  No;  she  thinks  that  she  will  have  to  live  with 
me  *  for  ever  and  ever  and  ever.'  " 

The  phrase  is  so  apparent  a  quotation  that  it 
robs  him  of  speech,  and  it  is  Miss  Trent  who  re- 
sumes. 

"  But  she  is  not  turning  me  out;  I  am  turning 
myself  out." 

He  looks  at  her  with  a  compassion  that  all  her 
raised  quills  cannot  hinder. 

"  I  wish  it  was  not  a  law  of  nature  that  no  one 
can  laugh  without  making  some  one  else  cry." 

Her  eyes  meet  his  in  undisguised  astonishment, 
and  once  again,  as  when  he  had  seen  her  stretch  an 
unregarded  hand  to  her  brother,  he  realizes  their 
possibilities  of  gentleness. 

"  Are  you  trying  to  look  at  it  from  my  point  of 
view?  " 

**  I  can  do  it  without  trying." 

Worn  out  with  the  successive  mortifications  and 
disgusts  of  the  day,  wretchedly  out  of  her  element, 
seething  with  miserable  wrath  and  death-wounded 
pride,  it  is  no  wonder  that  this  shaft  of  sympathy 
from  the  heart  of  the  enemy's  camp  finishes  off 


82  FOES   IN   LAW 

poor  Miss  Trent.  A  horrible  fear  assails  her  that 
in  a  moment  irresistible  tears  will  have  mastered 
her.  It  is  an  untold  relief  to  find  that  her  compan- 
ion is  doing  the  one  wise  thing  under  the  circum- 
stances, and  leaving  her  to  herself.  By  the  time 
that  he  returns  with  Marie  in  tow  she  is  quite  pre- 
sentable. 

"  Gabriel  says  that  you  are  tired.  He  thinks  that 
you  would  like  to  go  to  bed." 

There  is,  at  all  events,  no  over-setting  sympathy 
in  the  tone,  and  Miss  Kergouet  utters  her  sentence 
with  a  parrot-like  air,  which  suggests  dictation. 

"  I  am  rather  tired." 

"  Of  course,  you  would  not  care  to  stay  up  and 
see  Esmeralda?  " 

This  query  is  not  dictated.  The  form  of  it  is 
rather  hostile;  but  there  is  an  underlying  incredu- 
lity in  her  own  statement.  Does  that  person  exist 
who  would  not  wish  to  stay  up  and  see  Esmeralda, 
fresh  from  the  glories  of  her  "  walk  on  "? 

Lettice  hesitates.  Shall  she  take  the  olive- 
branch,  strange  sport  in  vegetation  as  it  is?  The 
whole  family,  quiet  for  the  moment,  await  her  de- 
cision. Behind  the  sister's  untidy  Bohemian  bril- 
liance she  sees  the  brother's  eyes  asking  her  to 
assent.    That  decides  her. 

"  Thank  you;  but  I  am  afraid  I  am  rather  tired." 

The  girl  turns  away  with  an  undisguised  resent- 
ment in  the  whisk  of  her  skirt,  and  Gabriel  lights 
the  guest's  candle  in  silence. 

Sometimes  in  after  days  she  thinks  that  things 
might  have  been  different  if  she  had  stayed  up  on 
that  first  night  to  see  Esmeralda. 


CHAPTER   VII 

Though  Lettice  has  declined  to  see  Esmeralda,  it 
is  beyond  the  power  of  walls  and  doors  to  prevent 
her  from  hearing  her.  Very  soon  after  leaving  the 
company  her  ears  tell  her  that  the  Popularity  has 
restored  the  flower  of  its  supers  to  her  family;  and 
a  voice  of  the  same  quality  as  Marie's,  only  much 
more  so — a  very  clarion  of  piercing  soprano — 
henceforth  dominates  the  general  din. 

Esmeralda  has  evidently  much  to  tell;  and  while 
she  narrates,  the  rest  of  the  rout  check  their  mirth 
to  listen.  Even  during  the  "  Bump  "  supper  that 
follows,  when  everybody  talks  at  once,  and  which 
is  prolonged  well  into  the  small  hours,  the  new- 
comer's voice  finds  its  only  real  rival  in  Sybil's. 
When  at  length  a  move  is  made  bedwards,  no  one 
seems  able  to  get  further  than  the  passage  outside 
the  guest's  door,  where  alarums  and  excursions  con- 
tinue to  take  place,  and  would  be  continuing  still, 
but  for  the  armed  interposition  of  some  one — Miss 
Trent  has  not  much  difficulty  in  guessing  whom. 
This  unseen  deliverer,  finding  strenuous  words  and 
**  hushes  "  unavailing,  is  clearly  driven  to  lifting, 
shoving,  and  pushing  the  members  of  his  family 
into  their  several  rooms,  and  locking  them  in.  Pro- 
tests from  inside,  prettily  set  off  by  kicks  on  the 
panels,  make  night  lively  yet  a  while  longer;  and 
then  at  last  silence  falls. 

«3 


84  FOES   IN   LAW 

Lattice  is  awoke  by  her  maid,  who,  recovered  and 
disdainful,  apologizes  for  the  lateness  of  her  morn- 
ing tea. 

"  I  could  not  get  it  before.  There  was  nobody 
about.  I  never  saw  such  a  place.  You  can't  get 
anything." 

"  It  is  not  of  the  least  consequence." 

"  I  asked  what  hour  breakfast  was  at,  and  they 
laughed  and  said  there  never  was  any  particular 
hour  for  anything  here;  that  everybody  had  it  just 
when  they  liked  in  their  bedrooms." 

^'  It  does  not  in  the  least  matter." 

"  The  ladies  and  the  young  gentlemen  are  all 
running  about  the  passages  in  their  nightgowns. 
I  met  the  one  that  came  last  night — she  is  an  ac- 
tress, isn't  she? — close  to  your  door." 

The  prevalent  enthusiasm  for  the  drama  has  not 
penetrated  to  the  steward's  room  at  Trent,  and  the 
tone  is  not  one  of  admiration. 

"  I  suppose  a  wedding  always  upsets  a  house- 
hold," replies  her  mistress,  driven  grudgingly  to 
the  defence  of  the  family;  but  not  feeling  able  to 
keep  up  the  tone,  feigns  sleep  to  avoid  the  neces- 
sity. 

When  she  leaves  her  room,  an  hour  and  a  half 
later,  the  state  of  things  is  not  materially  changed 
from  that  protestingly  indicated  by  her  maid.  The 
family  is  still  pervading  the  passages,  though  the 
nightgowns  of  the  servant's  heated  fancy  translate 
themselves  into  more  or  less  rumpled  peignoirs. 
The  master  of  the  house  and  his  eldest  son  are  the 
only  two  absent  from  the  promenade  concert. 

Esmeralda  is  one  of  the  first  to  be  met;  and 
neither  the  consciousness  of  a  fringe,  still  very 


FOES  IN   LAW  85 

much  in  bud,  nor  any  bashfulness  at  the  poor  re- 
pair of. her  wrapper,  impair  the  affectionate  hveli- 
ness  of  her  greeting. 

"  We  must  introduce  ourselves,"  she  cries,  gaily. 

"  I  am  Esmeralda,  and  you  are "    The  word 

"  Lettice  "  is  evidently  trembling  on  her  lips,  but 
something  in  the  icy  blue  of  the  eye  that  meets  her 
freezes  it  there,  and  she  substitutes, ''  You  are  Jim's 
sister,  about  whom  he  has  raved  so  to  us." 

The  ludicrous  misapplication  of  such  a  verb  to 
her  tongue-tied  brother  calls  up  a  frosty  smile, 
which  sets  Esmeralda  going  again. 

"  I  was  so  disappointed  not  to  see  you  last  night, 
but  they  told  me  you  were  tired.  I  hope  we  did 
not  disturb  you  much.  We  tried  to  make  as  little 
noise  as  we  could." 

A  grotesque  wonder  as  to  what  the  Kergouet 
notion  of  noise  must  be  runs  through  Miss  Trent's 
brain,  and  perhaps  relaxes  her  features  a  little. 

"  I  am  afraid  the  children  got  a  little  wild,  but 
we  were  really  nearly  as  bad  ourselves." 

"  Yes?  " 

"  Such  a  piece  of  luck  does  not  happen  every 
day." 

Lettice  tries  to  smile.  Can  the  good  resolutions 
she  has  been  making  while  dressing — the  com- 
punction at  her  own  behaviour  which  a  disap- 
pointed look  seen  through  the  flame  of  a  bedroom 
candle  last  night  inspired — can  they  hold  out 
against  the  blatant  exultation  of  this  creature  over 
what  she  must  know  to  be  no  subject  of  exultation 
to  her? 

She  struggles  feebly.  "  I  am  glad  you  are 
pleased." 


S6  FOES   IN   LAW 

The  face  beaming  below  its  crop  of  hair-curlers, 
and  like  Marie's  as  the  dreadful  copies  on  female 
easels  on  student  days  in  the  National  Gallery  are 
like  the  Vierge  des  Rochers,  falls  a  Httle. 

"  Oh,  you  have  heard,  then?  " 

'*Have  heard?  " 

"  Yes;  my  great  piece  of  news — ^the  piece  of 
news  I  brought  down  last  night,  which  made  us  all 
lose  our  heads?  " 

A  ray  of  light  begins  to  illumine  the  hopeless 
mystification  that  the  last  two  sentences  have  pro- 
duced in  Lettice's  mind.  It  is  not,  then,  their  ex- 
travagant good  fortune  in  becoming  connected 
with  herself  that  has  set  the  Kergouets  shout- 
ing. 

"  No,  I  have  not  heard." 

"  Crawley,  my  manager,  has  promised  me  the 
understudy  of  the  soubrette's  part  in  the  new 
piece. 

She  stops  dramatically,  as  if  comment  could  but 
weaken  the  effect  of  this  tremendous  announce- 
ment. 

**  The  understudy! " 

"  Yes;  but  it  is  really  almost  as  good  as  having 
the  part.  Miss  Tiny  Villiers,  who  plays  it,  had  in- 
fluenza badly  twice  last  winter,  and  she  is  sure  to 
have  it  again." 

There  is  such  a  certainty  of  being  deeply  inter- 
esting, such  an  absolute  want  of  suspicion  as  to  not 
being  sympathized  with  in  the  whole  tone  of  the 
speaker,  that  Miss  Trent  is  juggled  for  the  moment 
into  thinking  that  she  too  must  be  wishing  the 
plague  of  "  grippe "  to  alight  on  the  unknown 
artist. 


FOES   IN   LAW  87 

"  He  told  me  only  last  night.  It  is  so  fortunate 
that  it  should  have  happened  just  now,  when  we 
are  all  so  anxious  to  keep  up  Marie's  spirits." 

"  Do  you  think  her  so  much  to  be  pitied?  " 

"  Oh  no.  No,  of  course  not.  Of  course,  we 
must  all  get  married  some  time  or  other;  and  Jim 
is  an  old  darling.  But  the  first  break  in  a  family  is 
always  a  bit  of  a  wrench!  " 

This  speech,  like  several  former  ones  heard  be- 
neath the  same  roof,  makes  Miss  Trent  dumb. 
What  lesser  effect  could  be  produced  by  the  ob- 
vious fact  that  the  whole  clanjamfry  of  the  Ker- 
gouets  are  perfectly  unaware  of  the  gigantic  coup 
they  have  made,  all  their  elation  being  reserved  for 
this  miserable  little  bit  of  theatrical  promotion! 

The  colloquy  is  broken  into  by  the  bride-elect, 
who  here  issues  from  her  bower  with  a  toilette 
somewhat  more  advanced  than  her  sister's.  She, 
too,  is  in  a  dressing-gown,  but  the  rings  of  her 
beautiful  dark  hair  are  curling  unconfined  about 
the  low  and  lovely  squareness  of  her  forehead. 
Seen  beside  the  original,  the  execrableness  of  the 
poor  copy  is  more  patent  than  before. 

"So  you  have  made  acquaintance  already!" 
Marie  says,  in  an  off-hand  voice,  that  has  yet  a 
strong  tinge  of  satisfaction  in  it.  Then,  turning  to 
Lettice  with  more  cordiality  than  she  has  yet 
shown — "  Do  you  think  Esmeralda  like  me?  " 

"  Ye-es." 

Strange  as  it  may  seem,  the  answer  is  evidently 
the  one  expected,  and  gives  complete  satisfaction. 

"  I  knew  you  would.  When  she  is  made  up  for 
the  stage  we  might  be  mistaken  for  one  another." 

"  I  should  scarcely  have  thought  that." 


88  FOES   IN   LAW 

"We  should  have  brought  down  the  house  as 
'  Sebastian  '  and  '  Viola/  " 

It  is  clear  that  the  actress  guesses  at  the 
stranger's  demurrer  to  this,  for  she  says  good- 
humouredly — 

"  I  am  her  understudy." 

The  word  and  its  associations  exhilarate  them 
both  so  much  that  they  have  to  do  a  little  bear- 
fighting  with  their  juniors,  who  have  now  joined 
the  group,  to  work  it  ofif;  and  the  suggested  need 
of  keeping  up  Marie's  spirits  recurs  ironically  to 
her  future  sister-in-law's  mind  as  she  stands  in  her 
tall,  neat  freshness — the  typical  morning  English- 
woman— watching  them. 

"  You  will  not  mind  entertaining  yourself,  I  dare 
say,  to-day? "  says  Marie,  coming  back  out  of 
breath,  and  still  off-hand,  but  not  hostile.  "  I  shall 
be  frightfully  busy!  My  club  girls  are  coming 
down  to  see  the  presents,  for  one  thing,  and  they 
are  not  half  unpacked." 

"  Your  club  girls?  " — ^with  a  gasp  of  surprise  at 
this  glimpse  of  unexpected  philanthropy. 

"  Yes;  I  have  a  club  of  ballet-girls.  Dear  mother 
began  it." 

"  Indeed?  " 

"  And  my  gown  has  never  turned  up;  and  there 
is  a  mistake  about  the  waiters;  and  some  people 
are  coming  to  dinner  to-night — I  can't  remember 
who  or  how  many,  as  I  have  mislaid  most  of  the 
notes,  but  I  dare  say  it  will  be  all  right." 

She  says  it  with  perfect  serenity — a  serenity 
shared  by  all  her  listeners  save  one. 

"  And  then  there  is  a  rehearsal  at  the  church  at 
three,"  continues  the  bride.     "  Of  course,  it  is  a 


FOES   IN   LAW  89 

bore  to  have  to  be  married  two  days  running,  but 
if  you  do  a  thing,  you  may  as  well  do  it  well;  and 
if  Jim  is  not  coached  beforehand,  he  is  such  a  dear 
old  idiot  that  he  is  sure  to  get  on  my  wrong  side, 
or  put  the  ring  on  my  wrong  hand." 

It  is  irrational  of  Miss  Trent  to  think  that  her 
sisterhood  of  a  lifetime  entitles  her  to  feel  indig- 
nation at  this  little  mushroom  acquaintance  of  a 
month  calling  her  brother  names;  but  its  want  of 
reason  does  not  prevent  her  from  swelling  in- 
wardly, and  repeating  over  to  herself  the  words, 
"Freak!  ""Idiot!" 

This  being  her  attitude  of  mind,  it  is  perhaps  as 
well  that,  for  the  rest  of  the  day,  she  has  no  con- 
tinuous intercourse  with  her  future  relation,  being 
aware  of  her  only  in  sudden  flashes,  flying  about 
the  house,  pealing  bells,  boxing  ears,  sending  wires, 
giving  orders  in  her  ringing  voice,  and  repeating 
them  still  more  ringingly,  when,  as  seems  often  the 
case,  they  are  not  attended  to.  She  is  to  be  seen  in 
her  most  characteristic  light,  perhaps,  while  ex- 
hibiting her  presents  to  the  thirty  or  forty  coryphees 
who,  about  noon,  inundate  the  house. 

Lettice  has  volunteered  her  help  in  entertaining 
them,  but  the  loudness  of  their  riotous  voices  and 
the  easy  familiarity  of  their  manners  make  her 
shrivel  into  her  shell;  and  she  is  wonder-stricken  to 
observe  with  how  little  apparent  disrelish  Miss  Ker- 
gouet  allows  them  to  insert  their  dirty  hands  within 
her  arm,  to  finger  her  dress,  and  even  approach 
their  wild  heads,  and  wilder  plumes,  to  her  lovely 
face. 

Jim  has  been  pressed  into  the  service,  and  does 
great  credit  to  his  training  by  the  unblenching  way 


90  .  FOES   IN   LAW 

in  which  he  bears  the  startling  and  affectionate  can- 
dour of  the  young  ladies'  comments  upon  his  ap- 
pearance and  situation. 

In  the  displaying  of  the  wedding  gifts  new  food 
for  astonishment  is  afforded  to  Lettice  by  the  ob- 
servation of  how  very  much  greater  value  is  at- 
tached by  the  bride  to  the  tawdry  trifles  given  by 
some  "  old  friend  of  dear  mother's/'  or  obscure 
player  whose  name  has  never  reached  the  pubUc 
ear,  than  to  the  solid  values  and  refined  beauties  of 
the  offerings  from  the  Trent  side. 

With  an  unbiassed  mind  Lettice  might  have  con- 
fessed that  she  whom  she  has  dubbed  an  adven- 
turess is  at  least  quite  innocent  of  greed;  but  prej- 
udice forbids  her  to  see  anything  in  the  preference 
but  want  of  taste. 

The  guests  enjoy  themselves  so  much  that  it  is 
difficult  to  induce  them  to  depart,  which  they  en- 
tirely decline  to  do  until  all  have  embraced  the 
bride.  Some  of  them — and  it  is  not  their  fault 
that  it  is  a  minority — snatch  a  kiss  from  the  bride- 
groom too.  The  exhibition  and  its  attendant  hu- 
mours have  taken  so  long  that  there  is  time  for  only 
a  very  few  mouthfuls  of  bolted  luncheon  before 
the  rehearsal  in  the  church.  It  is  with  deep  repug- 
nance that  Mr.  Trent's  sister  takes  part  in  this 
manoeuvre,  and  with  a  very  big  heart  that  she  walks 
up  the  aisle  alongside  of  Esmeralda,  in  the  im- 
probability for  the  occasion  of  a  sealskin  coat  and 
hat,  and  listening  to  the  scarcely  subdued  invec- 
tives of  the  also  hatted  and  coated  bride  against 
her  page  brothers  for  crowding  too  close  to  her, 
and  forgetting  her  oft-repeated  information  that 
her  train  will  be  six  yards  long.    There  is  a  good 


FOES   IN   LAW  91 

deal  of  scuffling  between  Muriel  and  Sybil  as  to 
which  shall  occupy  in  the  procession  the  left-hand 
place  next  that  side  of  the  church  which  is  to  be 
occupied  by  the  bride's  friends,  their  approval  be- 
ing the  object  coveted  by  both  girls,  who  are  ap- 
parently quite  indifferent  to  any  notice  from  the 
Trent  half  of  the  party.  Esmeralda — as  beaming 
as  she  herself  is  inwardly  protesting — whispers  to 
her  a  delighted  query  as  to  whether  a  wedding  does 
not  always  remind  her  of  the  church  scene  in 
"  Much  Ado."  She  answers  at  once  that  it  does 
not,  having  yet  to  learn  that  the  stage  is  the  most 
corroding  of  all  professions,  eating  so  deeply  into 
its  votaries  that  they  end,  and  sometimes  indeed 
begin,  by  seeing  the  footlights  between  them  and 
the  whole  scheme  of  creation. 

The  bride's  exhortations  are  by  this  time  di- 
verted from  her  pages  to  her  bridegroom,  whom 
she  is  rating,  in  a  tone  which  only  now  and  then 
remembers  to  adapt  itself  to  the  sacredness  of  the 
place,  for  his  clumsiness  in  manoeuvring.  She  is 
urging  him  not  to  forge  ahead  of  her  like  a  steam 
tram,  when  they  mount  the  chancel  steps  in  their 
advance  to  the  altar;  not  to  look  too  pleased,  etc. 
It  is  only  for  her  father  that  she  has  nothing  but 
gentlest  words  and  looks,  as  she  gives  him  her  di- 
rections where  to  stand  and  what  to  do. 

"  I  need  not  tell  you  not  to  look  too  pleased, 
need  I,  darling?"  Lettice  overhears  her  softly 
saying  to  him,  and,  to  the  girl's  astonishment,  she 
sees  two  tears  entangled  in  her  fabulously  long 
eyelashes. 

This  pretty  touch  ought  to  have  pleased  Miss 
Trent  i  but  when  we  have  made  up  our  minds  that 


92  FOES   IN   LAW 

a  fellow  creature  is  unmitigatingly  to  be  disap- 
proved, nothing  upsets  our  balance  like  the  crop- 
ping up  of  an  inconvenient  merit  or  grace;  and 
Lettice  tries  to  persuade  herself  that  the  whisper, 
so  obviously  intended  for  only  one  ear,  is  stagey. 

The  arrangement  of  details,  the  talking  and 
"  hushing,"  and  talking  again,  the  disposition  to 
giggle  on  the  part  of  the  juniors,  the  grotesque 
image  of  a  performing  bear,  which  will  recur  to  her 
in  connection  with  the  grave  docility  of  her  broth- 
er's efforts  servilely  to  obey  his  leader's  orders, 
combine  to  jade  Lettice's  spirits  so  much  that  on 
their  return  to  Acacia  Lodge  she  asks  to  be  allowed 
to  have  tea  in  her  bedroom. 

Esmeralda  insists  on  bringing  it,  and,  with  what 
is  real  though  unrecognized  self-denial,  since  she  is 
dying  to  make  one  of  the  group  that  follows  their 
Marie  about  on  this  final  day  like  Tantiny  pigs, 
stays  half  an  hour  with  the  guest  to  prevent  her 
feeling  neglected. 

There  is  more  of  intellectual  effort  in  following 
her  conversation  than  might  appear  on  the  first 
flash,  since  she  introduces  into  it  a  great  many  per- 
sons of  both  sexes  of  whom  Miss  Trent  has  never 
before  heard,  but  who  all  seem  more  or  less  to  have 
their  habitation  in  the  Green  Room,  by  their  Chris- 
tian names,  and  with  a  naive  confidence  that  the 
hearer  will  know  all  about  them.  By  the  end  of 
the  half-hour  her  head  and  ears  are  full  of  a  whirl 
of  Reggies,  and  Willys,  and  Phyllises,  and  Flor- 
ences. They  are  scarcely  cleared  of  their  unusual 
inmates  when  she  goes  down  to  dinner. 

The  room  is  full  of  people,  a  great  many  more 
than  the  young  hostess's  largest  computation  had 


FOES   IN   LAW  93 

reckoned  on  having  turned  up,  and  dinner  has  to  be 
considerably  delayed  to  allow  of  a  relief  table  being 
rigged  up  in  a  corner  of  the  dining-room.  No- 
body seems  to  care  a  straw.  At  dinner,  deposed 
from  her  place  of  honour  beside  the  host — for 
which  he  thinks  it  necessary  to  offer  her  a  long 
and  too  humble  apology — Lettice  sits  between  a 
couple  of  strangers,  each  of  whom,  through  no 
fault  of  theirs,  has  an  elbow  nestling  in  her  ribs. 
The  expected  waiters  are  still  conspicuous  by  their 
absence,  so  that  the  attendance  is  of  the  "  scratchi- 
est,'* and  the  food  shows  a  disposition  to  fall  short. 
But  again  nobody  seems  to  care  a  jot.  Even  dis- 
tant Gabriel,  whose  dark  glance  she  meets  now 
and  again,  gauging  her  condition  rather  anxiously 
between  the  candle-shades,  is  merrier  when  he  is 
not  looking  at  her  than  is  quite  consistent  with  her 
good  opinion  of  him.  Her  manner  might  show 
this  when  he  goes  up  to  speak  to  her  after  dinner 
were  she  not  really  glad  to  see  him,  since  his  com- 
ing frees  her  from  the  delicate  dilemma  in  which 
Esmeralda  has  put  her  by  claiming  her  joyful  sym- 
pathy in  the  news  just  brought  by  Ronny  Howard 
that  Florrie  Cavendish's  engagement  is  on  again. 

"  And  has  Miss  Trent  the  faintest  idea  who 
Florrie  Cavendish  is?  '* 

Lettice  shakes  her  head.  "  I  am  afraid  I  have 
not.'* 

"You  do  not  say  so!"  cries  Esmeralda,  genu- 
inely surprised,  but  not  at  all  offended.  *'  I 
thought  everybody  knew  Florrie;  "  and  so  goes  oflF 
to  repeat  her  tidings  to  more  understanding 
ears. 

"  Esmeralda  has  a  touching  faith  that  every- 


94  FOES   IN   LAW 

body  knows  and  loves  everybody  else/*  says  her 
brother. 

It  is  to  the  touch  of  irony  in  his  voice,  even 
more  than  his  words,  that  her  not  very  amiable 
answer  is  addressed. 

"How  beautiful!" 

He  takes  the  wind  out  of  her  sails  by  ac- 
quiescing. 

"  Yes,  in  a  way  I  think  it  is." 

"  You  do  not  suffer  from  the  same  amiable  de- 
lusion? " 

'*  No." 

"  Does — does  Marie?  " 

It  comes  with  difficulty,  but  there  can  be  no 
mistake  as  to  the  Christian  name  having  been  pro- 
duced at  last. 

"  Do  you  mean  does  she  herself  love  everybody? 
I  should  say  not;  but  when  she  does  care  for  people 
she  does  it  thoroughly." 

Silenced  for  the  moment  by  the  emphasis  of  this 
encomium,  Lettice's  eyes  wander  to  the  object  of 
it,  who  is  rather  obscured  from  sight  by  the  fact 
that  both  the  large  Muriel  and  small  Frank  are 
sitting  on  her  slender  knees.  She  has  caught  one 
of  her  father's  hands  as  he  passed  near  her,  and  is 
detaining  him  by  swinging  it  gently  to  and  fro. 
It  is  not  a  conventional  attitude  for  the  hostess  of 
a  large  party,  but  as  in  the  case  of  the  crowded  din- 
ner-table and  over-taxed  commissariat,  everybody 
seems  to  think  it  all  right. 

Lettice  repeats  the  young  man's  words  slowly. 

"  Does  it  thoroughly!    For  your  father,  for  one?  " 

"  I  should  rather  think  so." 

Miss  Trent's  eyes  have  lit  with  unconscious  dis- 


FOES   IN    LAW  95 

paragement  upon  the  damaged  gentleman,  but  the 
almost  defiant  championship  in  h;s  son's  voice 
makes  her  drop  them  with  an  uneasy  sense  of 
detection. 

"  And  for  Miss  Esmeralda?  " 

"  And  for  Miss  Esmeralda." 

"  And  for  you?  " 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  And  for  those  two  big  girls?  " 

There  is  something  contemptuous  in  her  not 
having  taken  the  trouble  to  master  their  names, 
which  comes  out  more  plainly  in  his  echo  of  her 
phrase — 

"  And  for  those  two  big  girls." 

Her  memory  recovers  itself  ere  the  next 
question. 

"  And  for  Lewis  and  Frank?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  And  for— Jim?  " 

There  is  something  significant,  as  both  are 
aware,  in  her  putting  this  last  name  at  the  tail  of 
her  queries. 

"  Would  she  be  marrying  him  if  she  did  not?  " 

His  quiet  ignoring  of  the  possibility  of  sordid 
motives  does  not  hide  from  her  that  he  has  de- 
tected her  suspicions,  and  shame  hurries  her  into 
an  illogical  rejoinder. 

"  Then  why  does  she  call  him  names?  " 

"What  names?" 

"  Freak,  Luney!  What  point  is  there  in  calling 
a  person  a  lunatic  when  he  is  particularly  remark- 
able for  common  sense?  " 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  point." 

A  slight  movement  of  eyelid  and  nostril  Implies 


96  FOES   IN    LAW 

that  in  her  opinion  it  is  a  very  poor  one.  Then  it 
strikes  her  that  once  again  she  is  taking  him  to 
task  for  crimes  not  his  own,  and  she  partially 
softens. 

"  You  have  great  influence  with  her — I  can  see 
that — I,  of  course,  have  none.  If  you  would  you 
might  persuade  her  not  to  hold  him  up  to  ridicule 
when  they  go  home — not  at  first.  He  is  very  much 
respected;  people  would  not  understand  it." 

The  young  man  is  listening  with  the  most  cour- 
teous attention,  and  into  his  eyes — she  cannot  now 
complain  of  their  being  too  cheerful — has  come  a 
look  which,  if  it  were  not  so  unlikely,  she  would  say 
expressed  undisguised  pity  and  regret.  It  is  with 
a  rather  hopeless  sigh  that  he  answers — 

"  I  will  try; "  adding  a  moment  later,  "  And  in 
return,  will  you — I  can  imagine  that  to  people  you 
loved  you  might  be  very "  (he  breaks  off,  ap- 
parently finding  the  sought  adjective  unfindable) 
— "  will  you  try  to  hate  her  a  Httle  less?  '* 


CHAPTER   VIII 

That  night  Miss  Trent  is  washed  into  slumber  on 
a  sea  of  tears.  Through  all  her  twenty-two  years 
it  has  been  an  article  of  unquestioning  faith  in  her 
little  circle  that  she  is  an  extremely  nice  girl,  and 
the  belief  has  insensibly  penetrated  herself.  In 
most  of  us  there  are  heights  of  self-conceit  that  our 
nearest  and  dearest  have  never  scaled,  depths  of 
humility  that  our  nearest  and  dearest  have  never 
plumbed. 

Not  until  Gabriers  request  had  laid  it  in  the  dust 
did  Lettice  realize  how  excellent  had  been  her 
opinion  of  herself.  He  had  not  meant  to  humble 
her,  merely  taking  her  unamiability  for  granted,  as 
a  fact  about  which  there  could  be  no  dispute,  and 
appealing  to  whatever  there  might  be  of  good  in 
her  to  protect  his  cherished  sister  against  its  effects. 
It  gives  the  measure  of  how  many  steps  she  has 
descended  that  a  ridiculous  streak  of  comfort 
crosses  her  mind  that  he  must  have  thought  there 
was  some  good  in  her,  or  he  would  not  have  ap- 
pealed at  all.  This  is  followed  by  a  flash  of 
angry  astonishment  that  she  should  deign  to  care 
what  any  member  of  the  Kergouet  family  think  of 
her.  But  the  first  of  the  two  impressions  is  the 
stronger. 

Sleep  in  any  case  would  be  difficult  in  the  house 
on  the  present  occasion,  since  in  it  this  marriage  eve 

97 


9$  FOES   IN   LAW 

the  night  and  morning  noises  meet  as  nearly  as  in  a 
railway  hotel. 

The  wedding  is  to  be  an  afternoon  one,  so  that 
one  would  have  thought  that  there  need  not  be 
quite  such  a  scrimmage  to  get  the  bride  ready  in 
time  as  there  is.  Probably  there  is  no  need,  though 
it  is  true  that  the  waiters  continue  not  to  turn  up, 
and  are  discovered  at  the  last  moment  never  to 
have  been  ordered.  But  the  real  cause  lies  in  the 
fact  that  scrimmage  is  the  natural  element  of  the 
family,  in  which  they  joy  as  the  petrel  in  the  storm. 
The  dressing  of  the  bridesmaids,  the  getting  the 
brother  pages  into  their  white  satin  breeches,  even 
the  pinning  of  the  bride's  veil,  seem  to  be  all 
more  or  less  conducted  in  the  passage.  Here  the 
family  appear  to  run  through  the  gamut  of  human 
emotions,  from  the  partly  chocolate-fed,  and  all 
chocolate-soothed  grief  of  little  Frank  at  his  sister's 
loss  to  the  pale  and  useless  ire  of  Louis,  who, 
goaded  by  some  crowning  insult  from  his  terrible 
seniors,  is  heard  complaining  in  a  French  voice, 
trembling  with  anger,  to  his  elder  brother — 

"  My  sisters  have  called  me  a  pig-idiot! " 

For  Gabriel  is  in  the  passage  too,  though  he  does 
not  make  his  toilet  there;  and  though  he  seems  to 
frequent  it  more  in  the  effort  to  evoke  some  order 
out  of  the  chaos  than  from  any  special  preference 
for  it. 

The  head  of  the  house  appears  there  fitfully  also, 
always  so  riotously  welcomed  by  his  offspring  when 
he  does,  as  to  make  Lettice  ask  herself  the  question, 
whether  to  be  well  beloved  the  only  preliminary 
step  really  necessary  is  to  disgrace  yourself?  He 
offers  her  apologies,  even  more  nervous  than  yes- 


FOES   IN    LAW  99 

terday's,  for  his  household's  shortcomings,  accom- 
panied by  a  faltering  hope  that  she  has  been  attend- 
ed to,  and  a  still  more  faltering  aspiration  that 
when  next  she  does  them  the  honour  of  visiting 
them  they  will  be  able  to  make  her  more  comfort- 
able. 

Miss  Trent  wonders  afterwards  whether  it  can  be 
due  to  the  dumb  entreaty,  almost  amounting  to 
command,  in  the  son's  eyes  that  she  answers  the 
father  quite  kindly.  There  is  a  touch  of  the  naivete 
that  distinguishes  the  whole  family  in  the  method 
taken  by  the  younger  man  to  reward  her. 

*'  It  will  soon  be  over  now,"  he  says,  rolling  an 
arm-chair  up  to  the  drawing-room  fire  for  her; 
"  and  it  is  unlikely  that  you  will  ever  again  have  to 
see  us  all  together.'* 

She  is  dressed  too  soon,  and  the  draughty  house, 
with  every  door  open,  makes  her  shiver  in  her  thin 
bridesmaid  finery — finery  made  distasteful  by  being 
Marie's  choice.  She  ignores  the  offered  chair, 
beyond  resting  an  indignant  hand  upon  its  back,  as 
she  turns  to  face  him. 

"  What  right  have  you  to  say  such  a  thing  as 
that  to  me?  " 

He  is,  perhaps,  not  quite  as  naif  as  the  rest  of  his 
family. 

"  I  meant  to  be  consolatory." 

"  You  have  taken  a  strange  method." 

Her  voice  is  full  of  wounded  feeling,  and,  richly 
as  she  has  deserved  his  snub,  manlike,  he  already 
regrets  it. 

"  All  I  meant  to  say  was  that  we  have,  perhaps, 
a  better  chance  of  being  liked  as  units  than  collect- 
ively." 


loo  FOES   IN   LAW 

"Was  that  all  you  meant?" 

Before  the  true  directness  of  her  look  his  own 
wavers. 

"  No,  I  meant  more.  I  meant  to  be  disagree- 
able, but  I  wwmean  it." 

Women  are  seldom  generous  to  a  disarmed 
enemy. 

"  You  cannot  unsay  it,  any  more  than  you  can 
unsay  the  cruel  request  that  you  made  me  last 
night.  If  it  is  any  satisfaction  to  you,  I  can  tell 
you  that  it  made  me  shed  bitter  tears." 

"  You  are  not  speaking  seriously?  " 

"  It  is  scarcely  a  subject  upon  which  I  am  likely 
to  joke." 

There  is  a  pause  of  consternation  on  his  part,  of 
modified  enjoyment  on  hers.  She  pursues  her  ad- 
vantage. 

"  At  home  I  have  always  been  thought  to  be  at 
least  human ;  the  implication  that  I  am  not  natural- 
ly gave  me  something  of  a  shock." 

He  has  been  wondering  what  has  become  of  her 
cheek  roses,  and  the  hearing  that  it  is  he  who  has 
abolished  them  puts  a  compunction  she  cannot 
mistake  into  his  lowered  voice. 

"  You  have  given  me  a  shock.  I  had  certainly 
no  wish  to  make  you  cry." 

She  abuses  her  superiority.  "  I  feel  sure  that 
you  meant  well;  but  in  the  instinct  of  defending 
what  you  loved,  you  naturally  did  not  pay  much 
attention  to  any  pain  you  might  be  inflicting  upon 
a  perfectly  indifferent  stranger." 

He  is  conscious  of  an  inward  protest,  grotesque  in 
its  strength  considering  the  circumstances,  against 
her  application  of  the  phrase  to  herself,  coupled 


FOES  IN   LAW  loi 

with  a  repetition  of  that  keen  pleasure  to  the  senses 
which  he  has  already  received  from  her  blond  come- 
Hness,  her  shining  neatness;  and  joined  to  a  pitying 
insight  into  the  physical  pain  which  a  creature  so 
exquisitely  nice  in  every  detail  of  her  perfect  finish 
must  have  suffered  from  the  equally  perfect  dis- 
order of  his  belongings. 

"  You  had  no  right  to  ask  me  not  to  hate  Jim's 
wife!  You  ought  to  have  known  that  that  was 
impossible." 

"  I  ought." 

His  acquiescence  is  less  due  to  conviction  than 
to  the  delight  of  his  ear  in  the  pitch  of  her  voice. 

"  On  the  other  hand,  I  dare  say  I  ought  to  have 
tried  to  be  more  forbearing  towards — your  sister!  " 

This  evidently  seems  to  her  to  be  an  immense 
admission;  and  whatever  may  be  the  brother's 
opinion  as  to  the  suitability  of  the  adjective,  she 
makes  it  with  such  a  pretty  air  of  generous  concili- 
ation that  he  cannot  but  accept  it  in  the  same  spirit. 
He  reverts  to  his  former  method  of  consolation, 
though  it  had  not  been  particularly  successful. 

**  You  will  like  her  much  better  when  you  get 
her  away  from  the  rest  of  us." 

"  Why  do  you  harp  upon  that  string?  "  she  cries 
in  real  displeasure,  though  her  scarcely  raised  tones 
show  small  likeness  to  the  peacock  wrath  of  Esme- 
ralda or  Marie. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  us  all  together  again?  " 

Her  resource  is  one  not  devoid  of  dignity. 
"  These  are  the  kind  of  things  that  people  do  not 
say,"  she  answers,  and  walks  towards  the  door. 
Here  she  goes  near  to  colliding  with  the  bride,  who, 
her  toilette  still  in  an  inchoate  state,  and  despite 


102  FOES   IN   LAW 

the  shrill  remonstrances  of  her  following,  has 
whirled  downstairs  in  search  of  some  forgotten 
trifle.  The  sight  of  her  brother's  face  makes  her 
forget  it  again. 

"  What  have  you  been  doing  to  her?  "  she  asks 
suspiciously.    "  She  was  as  red  as  a  peony." 

"  1  have  not  been  doing  anything." 

"  What  have  you  been  saying,  then?  " 

He  hesitates.  In  an  instant,  regardless  of  her 
laces  and  tulle,  she  has  flung  her  arms  round  his 
neck. 

"  Oh,  my  Gab,  if  you  take  to  talking  secrets  that 
you  will  not  tell  me  to  her,  what  good  will  my  life 
do  me?  " 

"  I  have  not  been  talking  secrets." 

She  looses  her  hold  just  enough  to  get  the  proper 
distance  for  reading  his  face. 

"  You  are  not  beginning  to  like  her?  You  do 
not  think  her  pretty?  " 

Once  again  his  answer  is  not  glib;  and  when  it 
comes  she  detects  its  evasiveness. 

"  I  think  her  very — ^well-groomed,"  affection- 
ately lifting  a  little  wandering  lock  as  he  speaks, 
and  trying  to  restore  it  to  its  place,  "which  is  more 
than  I  can  say  for  some  other  people!  " 

Marie  pushes  him  away  with  a  vigour  equal  to 
that  of  her  late  embrace. 

"  She  is  like  a  Dutch  garden!  " 

After  that  scrimmage  resumes  its  sway  for  the 
rest  of  the  day.  Never  in  later  life  will  Lettice's 
memory  be  able  to  present  to  her  its  events  in  any 
likely  or  rational  sequence.  When  was  it  discov- 
ered that  there  was  a  mistake  about  the  carriages  as 
well  as  the  waiters?    And  who  was  it  suggested 


FOES   IN   LAW  103 

that  the  wedding  should  be  put  off  till  next  day? 
It  must  have  been  the  bride  herself.  Was  it  going 
to  or  returning  from  the  church  itself  that  the 
hired  landau  which  conveyed  herself  and  her  fellow- 
bridesmaids  galloped  at  such  breakneck  speed  as 
bespoke  the  excess  of  transport  duty  laid  upon  it? 
Out  of  the  blur  of  impressions  rises  a  crowded 
church,  one  aisle  filled  with  well-known  faces,  all 
— or  she  fancies  so — stamped  with  the  same  im- 
press of  alert  curiosity,  which  makes  her  avert  her 
own  eyes  with  a  sense  of  humiliated  vexation;  the 
other  thronged  with  perfectly  unknown  persons 
who  make  up  in  numbers  for  whatever  they  may 
lack  in  distinction;  the  back  of  two  figures,  the 
shoulders  of  the  smaller  of  which  look  suspiciously 
as  if  she  were  sobbing;  a  cloud  of  clergy  so  numer- 
ous that  the  Marriage  Service  seems  hardly  long 
enough  to  afford  each  of  them  a  sentence;  and  a 
clash  of  bells  which  is  perhaps  the  one  among  her 
impressions  that  goes  nearest  to  being  a  sharp  one, 
carrying  with  it  as  it  does  the  flashed  knowledge 
that  the  odious  and  irrevocable  has  happened,  and 
that  Marie  Kergouet  is  in  fact  and  for  ever  Marie 
Trent.  Was  it  before  or  after  those  bells  that  Es- 
meralda had  bid  her  in  a  penetrating  whisper  look 
in  the  fifth  row,  and  she  would  see  her  manager, 
Crawley,  sitting  within  two  of  Cissy  Hartopp  of 
the  Pleasantry,  and  next  to  Miranda  Talbot  of  the 
Sphere? 

Then  they  are  all  back  again  at  Acacia  Lodge, 
and  the  two  dissonant  bands  of  bride  and  bride- 
groom's friends  are  jostling  each  other  in  unnatural 
nearness  through  the  overcrowded  rooms.  It  is 
not  Esmeralda's  fault  if  they  do  not  amalgamate, 


I04  FOES   IN   LAW 

as  she  slips  and  flits  among  the  incongruous  ele- 
ments, introducing  them  to  each  other  as  far  as, 
and  indeed  a  good  deal  further  than,  her  know- 
ledge of  the  names  and  titles  of  the  unknown  half 
of  the  company  extends,  in  the  happiest  confidence 
that  they  will  all  be  overjoyed  to  make  each  other's 
acquaintance. 

With  reluctant  admiration  Lettice  has  to  own 
that,  whatever  the  weak  points  they  possess,  the 
Kergouet  family  are  at  all  events  strong  in  the 
courage  of  their  friends.  And  Esmeralda  has  a 
good  large  field  for  her  operations,  since  Jim  has 
had  his  kinsfolk  and  acquaintances  summoned  from 
far  and  near,  and  they  have  answered  to  the  call 
like  one  man.  With  his  plain,  wide  face  transfi- 
gured, he  goes  about  radiantly  reaping  tributes  to 
his  choice.  Lettice  reaps  some  too,  but  with  less 
consequent  illumination. 

"  She  is  extraordinarily  pretty,  my  dear,"  says  a 
smart  cousin,  putting  up  a  tortoiseshell  eyeglass — 
"  quite  extraordinarily;  but  who  are  all  these  peo- 
ple? I  never  seem  to  have  met  any  of  them  before, 
did  you?" 

A  dull  flush  burns  through  the  person  addressed. 

"I  think  they  are  chiefly  theatrical;  you  know 
that  the  elder  sister  has  gone  upon  the  stage." 

"  Theatrical?  " — with  greatly  quickened  interest. 
"How  exciting!  But  I  do  not  recognize  any  of 
them.  Is  Wyndham  here?  or  Irene  Vanbrugh?  or 
Ellen  Terry?  or  Tree?  " 

"  I  do  not  know;  I  have  not  seen  them." 

Then  comes  the  departure  of  the  newly  wedded; 
Marie  kissing  and  being  kissed  by  everybody — 
everybody,  that  is,  who  had  occupied  the  left  side 


FOES   IN   LAW  105 

of  the  church  aisle.  On  several  necks  she  throws 
herself.  She  is  strained  to  many  gaily  draped 
bosoms,  and  is  with  difficulty  dissuaded  from  acced- 
ing to  little  Frank's  blubbered  prayer  to  get  into 
the  brougham  with  her.  It  is  with  obvious  chok- 
ing that  she  pours  her  last  whisper  into  her  father's 
and  Gabriel's  ears,  though  her  previous  farewell 
to  her  new  sister-in-law  had  been  marked  by  a  little 
cold  hilarity. 

"  Good-bye.  You  can  never  call  me  Miss  Ker- 
gouet  again." 

Her  brother's  farewell  follows.  "  Good-bye, 
old  girl!  Take  care  of  yourself.  I  dare  say  that 
you  will  be  home  as  soon  as  we." 

She  makes  an  inarticulate  sound  that  cannot  be 
assent;  then,  with  a  pang  of  revolt  against  their 
letting  each  other  go  for  ever,  as  it  certainly  will 
be,  with  such  a  trivial  valediction,  she  clings  to  him 
for  a  moment,  faltering — 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  very,  very  happy." 

He  returns  her  embrace  most  affectionately,  but 
she  detects  haste  and  absence  in  his  clasp. 

"  Thanks,  dear,  thanks.  There  is  not  much 
doubt  about  that.    We  ought  to  be  oflf." 

The  crowd  of  well-wishers  and  rice-throwers 
have  turned  inwards  out  of  the  nipping  dusk  as 
soon  as  the  carriage  has  disappeared;  and  Lettice 
follows  them,  catching  as  she  does  so  Esmeralda's 
aspiration  as  heartfelt  as  high-pitched. 

''How  I  envy  them!  In  Paris  for  a  whole  fort- 
night! and  Marie  means  to  go  to  the  theatre  every 
night." 

"  They  have  gone  to  Paris?  "  repeats  the  com- 
rade addressed  with  surprised  interest.     "  It  was 


io6  FOES   IN   LAW 

put  in  the  papers  that  Lord  Blank  had  lent  them 
his  place  in  Hertfordshire." 

"  Marie  would  not  hear  of  it.  She  says  she  will 
have  more  country  than  she  knows  what  to  do 
with  for  the  rest  of  her  natural  life.  Oh,  Miss 
Trent,  I  did  not  see  you!    Has  not  it  gone  off  well?  " 

"  Was  there  ever  a  wedding  that  did  not  go  off 
well?  '*  asks  the  voice  of  Gabriel,  hastily  interpos- 
ing— "  at  least,  in  the  opinion  of  the  family  that 
shot  it  off?  " 

"  They  have  promised  to  be  back  for  the  first 
night  of  the  new  play.  You  ought  to  come  too," 
pursues  Esmeralda,  with  her  incorrigible  confi- 
dence in  the  sympathy  of  her  fellow-creatures. 
"  Tiny  Villiers  is  sure  to  get  her  influenza  back 
before  January  is  over,  and  then  /  nip  in.  It  is  not 
a  big  part,  but  one  might  make  a  good  deal  of  it. 
It  depends  entirely  on  the  way  you  play  it." 

She  flashes  off  to  cry  her  bright  confidence  in  the 
friendly  epidemic  into  a  score  of  other  ears,  and 
invite  their  owners  to  her  contingent  triumph;  and 
her  brother  remains  facing  that  fellow  bridesmaid, 
the  identity  of  whose  dress  with  his  sister^s — iron- 
ical and  momentary — only  accentuates  the  im- 
mensity of  their  difference.  He  devines  that  it  is 
the  haste  to  be  rid  of  that  distasteful  livery  which 
makes  her  say — 

"  I  must  go  and  change  my  gown." 

"  Must  you?  " 

"  Of  course.  I  cannot  go  up  to  London  in 
this." 

His  eye  travels  with  a  look  of  acrid  melancholy 
over  her  gay  costume. 

"  Will  you  ever  wear  it  again?  " 


FOES   IN   LAW  107 

She  starts  at  his  having  divined  her  intention  of 
committing  the  detested  costume  to  the  flames. 

"Why  shouldn't  I?" 

"But  will  you?" 

"  What  can  it  matter  to  you  whether  I  do  or 
not?  " 

"  Nothing." 

There  is  a  flat  spiritlessness  in  the  tone  of  his 
renunciation,  and  his  face  looks  as  fagged  as  she 
feels  her  own.  To  him  also  it  has  been  a  trying 
day.  At  intervals,  through  its  confusion  and  chaos, 
she  has  caught  sight  of  him  now  and  again,  and 
almost  always  as  propping  his  father's  faint  cou- 
rage, shielding  him  from  doubtful  encounter,  ward- 
ing ofif  possible  mortification. 

The  outlaw  for  twenty-five  years  from  the  world's 
favour  has  not  apparently,  even  in  a  quarter  of  a 
century,  grown  a  thick  enough  skin  to  have  faced 
the  ordeal  of  his  first  real  return  to  it,  if  he  had 
not  been  so  gallantly  upborne  by  his  son.  But  the 
strain  has  left  its  mark  on  that  son,  and  her  com- 
passion migrates  for  a  moment  from  herself  to 
him. 

"  I  think  you  are  almost  as  glad  as  I  am  that  it 
is  over." 

"  Quite."  A  moment  later.  "  I  wish  we  could 
have  made  you  more  comfortable." 

It  is  the  identical  aspiration  which,  issuing  from 
his  father's  mouth,  had  been  treated  with  the  dis- 
dain its  futility  seemed  to  merit.  Coming  from  the 
son's  it  is  differently  treated,  though  it  never  oc- 
curs to  her  to  deny  the  discomfort  which  he 
deplores. 

"  You,  at  least,  have  nothing  to  reproach  your- 


io8  FOES   IN   LAW 

self  with.     You  have  done  your  best  to  make  it 
easier  for  me/' 

''  By  making  you  shed  bitter  tears?  Is  that  your 
idea  of  hospitality?  " 

"  You  were  quite  right.  I — I  had  been  very 
near  hating  Marie."  As  she  makes  the  admission 
her  head  sinks  till  her  round  chin  almost  touches 
the  entwined  diamond  initials  of  Jim's  bridesmaid 
locket  upon  her  neck.  "  I  have  to  thank  you  for 
opening  my  eyes  to  the  fact." 

"  Mine  has  been  a  graceful,  pleasing  task.  If  I 
did  not  know  to  the  contrary,  I  should  feel  sure 
that  your  thanks  must  be  ironical." 

"  I  am  never  ironical;  I  suppose  that  I  am  too 
matter-of-fact." 

"Matter-of-fact!"  he  repeats  slowly,  not  be- 
cause he  doubts  the  statement,  which,  indeed,  he 
does  not,  but  from  an  inward  wonder  why  the  flat 
quality  in  question  suddenly  appears  to  him  as 
dressed  in  Venus'  cestus? 

She  takes  his  repetition  as  doubt,  and  brings  au- 
thority to  back  her. 

"  I  have  often  been  told,  and  by  a  person  who 
ought  to  and  does  know  me  intimately,  that  I  am 
wanting  in  imagination." 

"  Might  I  ask  whether  that  person  is  a  man  or  a 
woman?  " 

"  A— man." 

The  slight  hesitation  is  not  lost  upon  him,  nor  a 
patent  desire  to  get  away  from  the  subject  which 
she  herself  introduced. 

"  I  should  not  have  been  easy  in  my  mind  if  I 
had  not  had  the  opportunity  of  thanking  you  be- 
fore I  left,  and  I  want  to  tell  you,  too,  that  you 


FOES   IN   LAW  109 

must  not  be  unhappy  about  your  sister,  because 
even  if  I  go  on  hating  her,  it  will  not  spoil  her  life, 
since  I  am  not  to  live  with  her." 

**  Won't  it  spoil  yours?  " 

The  dejection  of  her  answer  is  tinged  with  sur- 
prise that  this  aspect  of  the  case  should  have  pre- 
sented itself  to  Marie's  brother. 

"  If  it  does,  that  will  not  affect  her!  " 

He  knows  that  it  would  be  absurd  to  rejoin  that 
her  happiness  or  unhappiness  will  affect  him;  yet 
the  words  that  would  tell  her  so  drive  away  all  oth- 
ers from  his  lips,  and  force  him  to  silence.  He  can 
only  stupidly  wonder  for  how  much  longer  he  will 
have  her  standing  there  before  him  under  the  elec- 
tric light,  whose  ill-shaded  blinding  inquisitiveness 
fails  to  detect  any  minutest  flaw  in  the  grain  of  her 
skin,  the  fresh  tincture  of  her  lips,  or  the  nice  per- 
fection of  her  appointments.  She  has  given  him  a 
peep  into  a  world  of  ordered  beauty  and  refine- 
ment which  he  looks  in  at  with  an  exile's  longing. 
He  must  say  something — anything  to  detain  her  a 
few  moments  longer. 

"  You  hav'e  made  your  plans?  " 

"  Not  yet — not  finally.  They  depend  upon  anoth 
— upon  other  people." 

"  The  people  who  think  you  wanting  in  im- 
agination? " 

This  time  she  reddens  frankly,  and  he  realizes 
the  full  intrusion  upon  her  confidence  of  his  ques- 
tion— realizes,  too,  once  again  what  her  sliding 
from  compromising  singular  to  colourless  plural 
means. 

"  I  must  really  be  going,"  she  says,  with  a  hur- 
ried glance  at  a  clock  above  their  heads,  which, 


no  FOES   IN   LAW 

being  a  Kergouet  one,  is,  of  course,  not  going; 
"  and  in  case  I  do  not  see  you  again  in  this  crowd, 
I  will  bid  you  good-bye." 

To  tell  her  how  little  likelihood  there  is  of  the 
contingency  she  suggests  would  be  to  forfeit  pres- 
ent possession  of  the  hand  which,  less  small  and 
soft  than  Marie's,  but  long  and  fair  and  capable, 
lies  next  moment  in  his. 

"  Thank  you  for  having  tried  to  make  it  easier 
for  me." 

"  Easier! "  he  repeats,  with  a  sharp  memory  of 
her  tears. 

"  Yes,  easier,  though  you  did  make  me  cry." 

Coquetry  is  not  in  her,  and  in  any  case  she  would 
not  deign  to  coquet  with  such  as  he,  yet  there  is  a 
half-maHcious  sweetness  leavening  the  sadness  of 
her  smile.  He  holds  her  hand  since  she  has  given 
it  to  him  firmly,  though  with  no  impertinent 
pressure. 

"  Good-bye,"  he  says;  then  resolutely,  and  as  if 
defying  her  to  contradict  him,  "  In  other  circum- 
stances we  should  have  been  friends." 


CHAPTER  IX 

"  I  DARE  say  you  will  be  at  home  as  soon  as  we! " 
These  parting  words  of  her  brother's,  spoken  in 
ignorance  of  her  intention  of  forsaking  him,  have 
rung  ironically  in  Lettice*s  ears;  yet  they  come 
nearly  true.  Christmas  is  spent  by  the  bride-pair 
in  Paris,  and  the  first  night  of  Esmeralda's  play  has 
delayed  them  yet  a  day  or  two  in  London,  but  early 
January  is  to  find  them  at  Trent. 

A  slightly  malicious  smile  touches  Lettice's  lips 
as  she  reads  the  cast  of  the  new  play  at  the  Popular- 
ity, which  reveals  the  fact  that  Miss  Tiny  Villiers 
is  as  yet  unscathed  by  influenza;  but  it  is  impossi- 
ble to  feel  very  ill-natured  about  poor  Esmeralda, 
and  the  fact  does  not  elate  the  reader  as  much  as 
she  would  have  thought  that  any  misfortune  to  a 
Kergouet  must  have  done. 

The  cousins  with  whom  she  spends  her  own 
Christmas  and  New  Year,  though  a  pleasant, 
affectionate  family,  jar  upon  her  feelings  by  persist- 
ing in  regarding  her  brother's  marriage  as  a  very 
good  thing  for  her. 

"  It  was  the  only  thing  that  could  have  freed 
you,"  says  her  aunt,  looking  sensibly  at  her  through 
the  spectacles  that  her  acute  eyes  do  not  seem  to 
need ;  "  and  poor  Jim  was  growing  very  heavy  and 
droney.  I  never  thought,  after  the  Yankee  catas- 
trophe, that  he  would  have  binged  himself  up  to 

III 


H2  FOES   IN   LAW 

ask  any  other  woman.  Perhaps  this  little  minx 
saved  him  the  trouble.  She  looked  quite  capable 
of  taking  the  initiative." 

The  matron  laughs,  v^ith  an  inward  thanksgiving 
that  the  minx  in  question  had  not  run  across  any- 
thing male  among  her  own  brood  before  inflaming 
the  ponderous  Jim.    Her  niece  answers  gravely — 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  she  did." 

It  is  the  idlest  Christmas  Miss  Trent  has  ever 
spent,  and  the  sight  of  her  relatives,  cheerfully 
bustling  about  their  seasonable  charities,  brings  to 
her  with  added  sting  the  fact  that  never  again  will 
she  play  Protagonist  in  like  bounties  and  festivities 
at  her  late  home. 

Her  brother  sends  her  a  handsome  Christmas 
present  and  a  letter,  through  every  line  of  which 
strong  affection  breathes  wherever  blazing  happi- 
ness lets  it  show  its  nose.  It  ends  with  an  erased 
postscript.  To  reconstruct  what  its  builder  has 
meant  to  destroy  is  certainly  a  mistake;  but  a  sus- 
picion that  the  P.  S.  is  in  her  new  sister-in-law's 
handwriting  lends  Miss  Trent  the  fatal  ingenuity 
necessary  to  decipher  what  must  have  run  thus — 

"  Our  minds  are  braced  to  finding  you  on  the 
doorstep." 

The  first  outcome  of  her  discovery  is  a  red  vow 
never  to  cross  the  doorstep  alluded  to;  but  time, 
coupled  with  the  reflection  that  the  sentence  had 
been  erased,  and  must  have  originally  done  duty 
for  a  pleasantry,  make  her  modify  this  resolve.  It 
is  incumbent  on  her  to  go  back  to  Trent  in  order 
to  give  up  into  the  worthless  hands  which  will 
henceforth  hold  them  the  reins  of  her  own  dear 
kingdom;  to  give  Marie  the  opportunity,  of  which 


FOES   IN   LAW  113 

she  is  sure  not  to  avail  herself,  of  acquitting  those 
duties  to  village,  parish,  schools  and  neighbours 
which  she  is  certain  to  neglect.  It  shall,  at  all 
events,  not  be  for  want  of  having  them  faithfully- 
pointed  out  to  her. 

"  I  would  go  back  for  the  present,"  says  the 
sensible  aunt.  "  But  give  them  a  Httle  hoHday  now 
and  then;  visit  a  good  deal,  but  make  it  your  head- 
quarters. I  do  not  quite  see  what  else  is  open  to 
you;  nothing  short  of  a  miracle  would  turn  you 
into  a  club-and-flat  girl,  and  if  you  and  that  pretty 
little  flyaway  can't  hit  it  off,  why,  you  must  marry.'* 

"  The  refuge  of  the  hopelessly  commonplace  and 
antiquated!  Must  I?  "  replies  the  girl,  with  a  smile 
that  is  both  sad  and  dry. 

Must  she?  It  is  the  answer  to  that  question 
which  is  still  further  enhancing  the  difficulty  of  the 
question  of  her  reappearance. 

There  is  one  welcome  awaiting  her  of  whose 
warmth  and  sincerity  she  cannot  doubt.  Did  ever 
man  write,  or  woman  receive,  such  a  letter  as  that 
with  which  the  curate  of  Trent  has  poured  the  Ni- 
agara volume  of  his  love  and  triumph  on  receiving 
the  news  of  her  brother's  engagement?  It  is  so 
blazing  that  she  is  afraid  to  come  near  it,  and  has 
locked  it  into  her  despatch-box  with  a  dread  lest, 
if  she  admits  its  closer  proximity,  it  may  set  fire 
to  her  too.  The  dread  is  mixed  with  the  same  tin- 
gling curiosity  as  the  sight  of  his  ardours  had  in- 
spired; the  same  half-frightened,  half-delighted 
wonder  as  to  whether  his  tempestuous  conviction 
that,  if  she  will  let  him,  he  can  infect  her  with  a 
like  fury  of  tenderness  be  true? 

The  dread  and  the  fascination  have  been  hers 


114  FOES  IN  LAW 

ever  since  Chevening's  command  to  her  to  answer 
his  adoration  had  broken  upon  her  startled  maiden 
ear;  but  do  they  keep  quite  the  same  relative  pro- 
portion as  before?  Is  not  the  dread  rather  more, 
and  the  fascination  rather  less,  than  at  first?  And 
if  so,  why? 

She  fails  totally  to  answer  these  questions,  her 
thoughts  getting  so  hopelessly  mixed  that  when 
she  tries  to  solve  them  the  words,  '*  In  happier  cir- 
cumstances we  should  have  been  friends,"  keep 
chiming  senselessly  in  her  ear  instead. 

She  has  not  answered  the  letter.  How  dares  she, 
indeed?  The  least  chilling  phrase  might  drive  him 
to  God  knows  what  extremes  of  despair — suicide, 
perhaps;  for  with  all  his  gifts  his  is  not  a  quite  well- 
balanced  mind.    Does  she  even  wish  to  chill  him? 

She  glances  half  timidly  through  the  six  volcanic 
pages.  Oh,  how  humble  and  awed  she  ought  to  be 
at  possessing  such  a  love!  Many  women  set  forth 
on  their  life  journey  fain  to  be  content  with  a  little 
tepid,  uncertain  liking.  How  royally  endowed  she 
has  it  in  her  power  to  start  on  the  race!  Even  if 
she  can't  glow  with  a  heat  that  adequately  answers 
his — but  can't  she?  A  thrill  seems  to  contradict  the 
inability.  She  must  see  him,  hear  him,  touch  him, 
like  the  blind  patriarch  in  the  Bible  story,  before 
she  can  decide  whether  he  is  in  very  truth  the  love 
of  her  life  or  no. 

And  so  it  comes  to  pass  that  an  early  day  in 
January  finds  her  driving  through  the  lodge-gates 
of  her  old  home  under  the  evergreen  arches  and 
not  yet  dismounted  "  Welcomes  "  and  "  Health 
and  happiness,"  which  rub  into  her  the  fact  that  the 
new  regime  has  begun. 


FOES   IN   LAW  US 

After  all,  it  is  the  old  regime  in  the  shape  of  her 
brother,  and  her  brother  alone,  who  meets  her  on 
the  doorstep,  escorts  her  into  the  empty  morning- 
room,  and  makes  her  pour  out  her  own  tea. 

"  Marie  is  in  the  music-room.  They  cannot  have 
let  her  know.    I'll  go  and  tell  her." 

"  Wait  a  moment.  Do  not  be  in  a  hurry.  I 
want  to  have  a  look  at  you.  I  want  to  see  if  you  are 
still  Jim." 

He  answers  gracefully,  "Rot!"  but  lets  her 
stand  opposite  him,  with  a  hand  on  each  of  his 
shoulders,  and  answers  with  a  look  of  unflinching 
happiness  her  suspicious  gaze. 

"  Well,  may  I  go  now?  " 

"  Yes." 

Left  alone,  her  eye  hurries  round  the  room  in 
search  of  change  and  deterioration.  To  a  casual 
eye  there  would  not  seem  to  be  much  of  either,  the 
trivial  blots  of  some  large-framed  photographs  of 
Miss  Poppy  Delafield  in  character  excepted;  but  in 
a  second  the  room's  lifelong  occupant  has  detected 
one  which  makes  her  start  violently.  What  that 
change  is  does  not  remain  uncertain  for  one  minute 
after  the  return  of  Mr.  Trent,  apologetic  and 
wifeless. 

"  Oh,  Jim,  how  could  you  allow  it?  " 

"  Allow  what?  " 

"  The  chairs." 

Mr.  Trent's  look  follows  with  a  disturbed  expres- 
sion his  sister's,  which  is  resting  tragically  upon  the 
two  sacred,  comfortable,  but  not  handsome  arm- 
chairs, which,  occupied  in  life  by  their  parents,  had 
since  their  deaths  never  been  moved  one  hair- 
breadth from  their  respective  positions  near  the 


ii6  FOES   IN    LAW 

fireplace,  but  now,  disgraced  and  banished,  are 
standing  far  off  with  their  backs  against  the  wall. 
His  voice  in  answering  is  guilty  and  troubled. 

"  She  did  not  know.    She  had  not  an  idea." 

"  And  you  did  not  tell  her?  " 

"  I  did  not  like  to,  not  just  at  the  first — at  the 
first  moment." 

"  I  wonder  she  did  not  know  by  instinct." 

"  What  didn't  I  know  by  instinct? "  cries 
a  light  piercing  voice,  and  the  culprit  stands  be- 
tween them. 

There  is  an  ominous  silence,  during  which  Let- 
tice  takes  in  that  her  adversary,  Frenchily  tea- 
gowned  and  chillily  smothered  about  the  throat  in 
white  fur,  is  prettier  than  ever.  The  bride  repeats 
her  question. 

"  What  didn't  I  know  by  instinct?  " — looking 
insistently  from  one  to  the  other.  "  It  is  the  only 
way  that  I  ever  do  know  anything." 

"  It  is  nothing — nothing,"  begins  Mr.  Trent,  in 
an  apprehensive  hurry  quite  new  to  him;  but  his 
sister  has  no  intention  of  letting  the  crisis  be  slid- 
den  over  on  rollers.  With  one  direct  thrust  she 
is  at  the  heart  of  the  matter. 

"  We  were  talking  about  the  chairs.** 

"What  chairs?" 

"  I  was  remarking  to  Jim  that  they  had  been 
moved." 

"  Why  shouldn't  they  be  moved?  " 

The  eyes  of  both  speakers  are  directed  to  the 
spots  whence  the  two  rather  lumbering  articles  of 
furniture  had  been  removed,  and  replaced  by  more 
prepossessing  specimens  of  the  cabinet-maker's  art. 


FOES   IN   LAW  117 

Miss  Trent  rears  her  stature  till  she  looks  like  a 
block  of  pink  ice. 

"  It  is  only  that  they  were  my  father's  and 
mother's,  and  had  not  been  moved  since  their 
deaths." 

A  flood  of  crimson  drowns  the  beautifully  ap- 
portioned red  and  Devonshire-cream  white  of 
Marie's  little  face,  and  seems  as  if  it  would  even 
tinge  her  snowy  furs. 

"  Your  father's  and  mother's!  Why  on  earth  did 
not  you  tell  me,  Jim?  How  could  you  have  let  me? 
It  is  quite  true,  I  ought  to  have  known  by  instinct." 

Before  they  guess  what  she  is  going  to  do,  she 
has  raced  to  the  distant  wall,  and  begun  with  all 
her  small  strength  to  tug  at  one  of  the  banished 
relics,  and  set  its  casters  rolling  towards  its  native 
seat. 

Jim  bounds  after  her,  with  an  agility  as  new  as 
his  late  flurried  attempt  at  a  laudable  lie. 

"  Do  not — do  not!  You  will  strain  yourself. 
Let  me." 

But  she  throws  away  his  help  and  his  hand. 
"  You  ought  to  have  told  me,"  she  says  in  a  choked 
voice,  piloting  her  charge  in  angry  independence 
to  its  goal;  and  having  insisted  on  performing  a 
like  unassisted  act  of  reparation  towards  its  fellow, 
she  flies  stormily  out  of  the  room. 

"  I  knew  that  she  would  only  need  to  be  told," 
says  Lettice,  perhaps  a  little  aghast  at  the  perfect 
success  that  has  attended  her  exhibition  of  can- 
dour. 

Her  brother's  sole  reply  is  to  give  her  one  look 
of  a  quality  distinctly  different  from  any  he  has  ever 


ii8  FOES   IN   LAW 

let  fall  upon  her  in  all  her  twenty-two  years,  after 
which  he  follows  his  wife  from  the  room. 

The  Manes  of  the  late  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Trent  have 
been  magnificently  appeased,  but  it  is  open  to  ques- 
tion whether  they  themselves  might  not  have 
thought  that  the  sacrifice  had  been  accomplished 
at  a  somewhat  heavy  cost.  It  can  scarcely  be  con- 
sidered a  good  beginning. 

However,  dinner  may  be  said  to  pass  off  pretty 
well,  since  it  is  not  very  obvious  that  Marie  has 
been  crying,  and  the  appearance  of  Kirstie  in  a 
muzzle  causes  but  a  slight  hitch  in  the  general 
amiability;  a  hasty  explanation  from  Mr.  Trent 
that  the  measure  is  only  a  temporary  one,  rendered 
necessary  by  the  determination  of  that  young  lady 
to  do  for  Marie's  tottering  old  Lulu,  which  had  be- 
longed to  "  dear  mother,"  at  once  smooths  the  ris- 
ing billows.  Possibly  Lettice  feels  that  she  has  con- 
quered enough  for  one  day,  and  that  to  except 
against  any  form  of  filial  piety  would  sit  ill  upon  her 
at  the  present  moment. 

The  January  Sunday  morning  that  follows  dawns 
lately  bright,  and  some  of  its  gilding  seems  to  have 
rubbed  off  on  the  Trent  family.  From  the  manly 
simplicity  of  Jim's  mind  little  affronts  fall  away, 
unable  to  find  a  sticking-place,  and  there  is  not  a 
trace  of  resentment  in  his  talk  with  his  sister  over 
their  tete-a-tete  breakfast.  Marie  has  from  the  first 
scoffed  away  any  idea  of  appearing  with  hideous 
punctuality  and  impossible  earliness  at  nine 
o'clock." 

Far  from  any  huffy  avoidance  of  his  wife's  name, 
Mr.  Trent's  conversation  runs  mainly  upon  her 
anxiety  to  make  friends  with  everybody;  upon  the 


FOES   IN   LAW  119 

invaluable  quality  of  Lattice's  help  to  her  in  this 
direction,  etc. 

Lettice  listens,  half  remorseful,  half  ashamed,  yet 
wholly  hostile. 

When  the  tardy  bride  at  last  comes  upon  the 
scene,  it  appears  that  she  has  a  slight  cold;  and 
her  husband  urges  her,  with  tender  importunity, 
not  to  risk  worsening  it  by  going  to  church.  She 
lightly  flicks  away  his  beseechments. 

"  Not  go  to  church  on  my  first  Sunday!  Not 
sit,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life,  iti  a  pew  at  the  top 
of  the  church?  Is  it  likely?  Not  see  the  rector  and 
hear  the  curate?    Is  that  Hkely?  " 

There  is  a  flash  of  malice  and  mirth  in  her  eye  as 
she  pronounces  her  last  two  aspirations;  and  a 
trickle  of  cold  water  seems  to  steal  down  Miss 
Trent's  back.  Jim  has  told  Marie!  Men  always 
prove  their  devotion  to  new  wives  by  sacrificing  old 
secrets — other  people's  no  less  than,  or  instead  of, 
their  own,  to  them!  But  Jim  answers  matter-of- 
factly — 

"You  will  not  hear  the  curate;  he  does  not 
preach  in  the  morning." 

"  Well,  hear  the  vicar  and  see  the  curate,  then. 
That  will  do  just  as  well." 

It  is  in  horrible  trepidation — heart-sinkings 
curiously  linked  with  heart-leapings — that  Lettice 
treads  the  familiar  path  to  church.  Outwardly  se- 
date but  inwardly  trembling,  she  walks  along  a  lit- 
tle ahead  of  the  other  two,  conning  over  to  herself 
topics  of  reassurance  to  still  her  pulses.  At  all 
events,  he  who  is  making  them  throb  will  not  be 
beetling  above  her  in  the  dreadful  proximity  of  the 
pulpit.    The  vicar  cannot  have  a  second  mother  to 


I20  FOES   IN  LAW 

force,  by  injudiciously  timed  dying,  his  curate  into 
the  preacher's  place.  To  hear  the  devout  music  of 
Chevening*s  voice  in  the  Liturgy  must  be  wholly 
pleasure;  and  she  will  be  able  to  listen  to  Mr.  Tay- 
lor's platitudes  with  the  lenient  affection  bred  of 
lifelong  knowledge  how  well  he  lives  up  to  them. 
Add  to  which,  the  congregation  will  have  none  of 
its  usual  attention  to  spare  for  herself,  every  eye 
being  inevitably  bent  on  the  bride. 

The  latter  is  full  of  alert  interest  as  she  skips 
along,  showering  questions  and  comments,  all 
curiously  towny  and  un-rural,  upon  her  spouse, 
who  is  so  much  occupied  in  answering,  in  fruitlessly 
begging  her  not  to  let  her  gown  trail,  and  in  taking 
care  of  her  unnecessarily  florid  books  of  devotion, 
as,  for  the  first  time  in  his  life,  to  forget  to  relieve 
his  sister  of  her  modest  Prayer-book  and  Hymnal. 

Even  a  dowdy  bride  may  count  upon  being 
looked  at  once  in  her  life,  and  no  one  has  ever  yet 
found  it  possible  to  help  staring  at  Marie,  whether 
in  wonder,  admiration,  or  wrath.  It  is  therefore 
no  marvel  that  as  the  new-comer  trips  up  the  aisle 
in  an  extravagantly  becoming  toque,  casting  daz- 
zling glances  of  half-smiling,  if  not  very  suitable 
curiosity  on  this  side  and  that,  there  is  a  very 
audible  rustle  and  shifting  of  positions  among  the 
Trent  flock.  Even  the  lady  whom  nobody  visits 
casts  a  look  from  between  her  pariah  eyelashes; 
and  the  three  discreet  old  gentlewomen  make 
scarcely  disguised  play  with  their  elbows  on  each 
others'  ribs. 

The  clergy  have  entered,  and  the  service  has  be- 
gun. Thank  Heaven,  Mr.  Taylor's  mother  has  not 
died  again,  for  here  he  is  in  his  place.    Even  Mrs. 


FOES   IN   LAW  121 

Taylor  has  shaken  off  dull  headache,  and  is  sitting 
quiet  and  recueillie,  but  deeply  excited,  in  the  Vicar- 
age pew. 

These  facts  Miss  Trent  has  mastered  by  intuition, 
since  she  never  once  lifts  her  eyes  from  her  book. 
Here,  in  God's  House,  Chevening  must  and  shall 
be  to  her  only  God's  minister;  nor  shall  any  eye- 
straying  of  hers  tempt  him  to  one  of  those  glances 
whose  passion  has  no  place  here.  She  keeps  her 
resolve  rigidly;  but  the  bride  is  evidently  less  se- 
vere, and  the  problem  of  keeping  at  bay  her  whis- 
pered questions  is  only  solved  by  a  feigned  deaf- 
ness. Her  husband  has  not  the  heart  for  such  aus- 
terity, and  her  little  hissing  queries  keep  dropping 
into  his  ear  throughout  the  service. 

It  is  over  now,  and  they  are  in  the  churchyard, 
which  is  fuller  than  usual,  both  from  a  disposition 
in  the  congregation  to  hang  back  and  have  a  look, 
and  also  because  Marie  has  at  once  overriden  and 
trampled  down  the  immemorial  Trent  custom  of 
remaining  in  the  church  till  the  last,  and  passing 
out  in  unhampered  dignity,  as  a  gloss  upon  the 
truism  that  we  are  all  equal  in  the  sight  of  God. 

Marie  is  in  the  thick  of  the  people  at  once,  pant- 
ing Jim  toiling  after  her  in  vain  with  his  presenta- 
tions and  slow  smiles.  She  is  shaking  hands  with 
persons  who  have  never  hitherto  got  anything  but 
a  bow,  making  jokes  with  people  who  have  never 
received  anything  beyond  a  formal  "  Fine  day," 
dancing  upon  custom,  driving  her  coach  through 
tradition,  rioting  in  revolution. 

She  is  retrieved  at  last — she  and  her  toque — 
from  among  the  gaping  little  crowd,  who  will  have 
to  go  home  and  lengthily  ruminate  over  their  Sun- 


122  FOES  IN   LAW 

day  dinners  before  they  can  hope,  even  approxi- 
mately, to  classify  such  a  phenomenon.  The  Trent 
family  meanwhile  take  their  homeward  way. 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  mind,"  says  Jim,  in  a  half- 
apologetic  voice  to  his  wife,  "  but  Chevening — that 
is  the  curate,  the  man  who  read  the  service — has  al- 
ways been  in  the  habit  of  lunching  with  us  on  Sun- 
day, and  he  will  very  likely  turn  up  to-day.  You 
will  not  mind?  '* 

''Mind!  I  shall  be  cruelly  disappointed  if  he 
does  not." 

Lettice  is,  as  before,  stalking  ahead,  but  her 
tingling  ears  inform  her  too  truly  of  the  mis- 
chievous ring  in  her  sister-in-law's  words. 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  right,"  rejoins  Jim,  relieved; 
adding,  with  his  unwonted  heavy  liveliness,  "  You 
were  quite  bowled  over,  were  you?  " 

She  gives  one  of  her  high  laughs.  "  Who  could 
refuse  anything  to  a  man  with  such  a  nose?  " 

Jim  laughs,  but  the  stalker  ahead's  comment  is, 
"What  bad  taste!  What  an  odious  pleasantry!" 
She  does  not  feel  her  brother's  certainty  that  Ran- 
dal will  appear  at  luncheon.  Will  he  dare  trust 
himself  to  meet  her  in  the  presence  of  a  stranger, 
even  though  he  does  not  share  the  knowledge 
which  produces  in  herself  so  overpowering  a  shy- 
ness, that  Marie  knows;  that  the  cold  glitter  of 
Marie's  eyes  will  be  upon  them,  detecting  each 
tremor,  spying  out  each  frailty? 

The  terror  that  her  own  undependable  face  will 
betray  quivers  of  expectation  or  a  drop  of  disap- 
pointment keeps  her  mewed  up  in  her  sitting-room 
— the  sitting-room  which  Mrs.  Trent  has  as  yet 
ghown  no  signs  of  reiving  from  her — till  long  after 


FOES  IN  LAW  123 

the  gong  has  sounded.  The  family  are  already  sit- 
ting at  the  round  table,  and  one  of  the  three  per- 
sons present  leaves  his  roast  beef  to  get  up  and 
shake  hands  with  her.  He  has  come,  and  it  is 
over! 

The  conversation  at  once  resumes  the  track  her 
entrance  had  interrupted.  Marie  is  pouring  a 
shower  of  questions  over  the  visitor  upon  the 
names,  habits,  and  histories  of  the  congregation; 
the  position  in  church  and  personal  characteristics 
of  each  of  whom  she  is  describing  with  an  accuracy 
that  does  more  credit  to  her  powers  of  observa- 
tion than  her  devotion.  Chevening  is  answering 
her  more  rationally  and  collectedly  than  under  the 
circumstances  Lettice  could  have  hoped.  After  an 
electric  glance  at  herself — please  Heaven,  Marie 
did  not  intercept  it — he  resumes  his  share  in  the 
lively  catechism.  Lettice  recovers  her  own  com- 
posure enough  to  verify  the  daring  incautiousness 
— nay,  the  perfect  recklessness — of  her  sister-in- 
law's  queries  and  comments. 

"  And  who  was  the  tiny  lady  in  one  of  the  side 
aisles  in  a  pew  by  herself,  sitting  next  a  pillar — she 
looked  as  if  she  was  trying  to  hide  behind  it — 
dressed  in  black,  with  a  pretty  little  dismal  face, 
and  who  never  lifted  her  eyes?  '* 

Randal's  answer  is  not  glib  this  time.  "  I  think 
you  must  mean  Mrs.  Fairfax." 

"  Fairfax!    Oh!    Is  she  a  widow?  " 

"  No,  but  her  husband  never  comes  to  church." 

"  I  liked  her  looks.  Why  wasn't  I  introduced  to 
her?  " 

The  sharp  click  of  the  bride's  question  meets 
only  empty  air.    Then  Randal  replies  lamely — 


124  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  She  had  probably  got  out  of  church  before 
you." 

It  would  have  been  wise  to  leave  the  explanation 
thus,  but  some  latent  exasperation  of  Miss  Trent's 
makes  her  improve  upon  it. 

"  Even  if  she  had  not,  you  would  not  have  been 
introduced  to  her." 

*'Why?" 

She  looks  round  in  vain  upon  three  diversely  un- 
comfortable faces,  and  her  '*  Why?  "  has  to  be  re- 
peated again  and  more  clarion-wise  before  Jim  is 
understood  to  mumble  to  his  plate  the  explanation 
that  there  is  "  a  screw  loose!  " 


CHAPTER   X 

A  SCREW  loose!  To  the  relief  of  all  parties  and  the 
astonishment  of  one,  Mrs.  Trent  does  not  imme- 
diately pursue  the  theme;  but  she  recurs  to  it  after 
luncheon,  when  she  and  Lettice  are  alone  together 
for  a  few  minutes  in  the  morning-room. 

"  What  was  the  screw  loose  about  that  poor  little 
woman?  " 

"  Oh,  the  usual  one." 

"  There  are  so  many  usual  ones." 

Lettice  hesitates.  She  has  no  great  dislike  to  the 
idea  of  hurting  her  sister-in-law's  feelings  in  small 
things,  but  wittingly  to  remind  her  of  her  heredi- 
tary disgrace  is  far  beyond  the  scope  of  her  ma- 
levolence. 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  any  use  in  digging  up  an 
old  scandal?  " 

"  Perhaps  I  shall  not  think  it  a  scandal." 

This  schismatic  utterance  gives  Lettice's  tongue 
the  needed  impetus. 

**  She  lived  with  her  husband  before  she  married 
him." 

"  Perhaps  he  had  a  wife  already." 

"  I  believe  he  had." 

"  Then  how  could  this  one  marry  him?  " 

The  topsy-turvy  morality  evidenced  by  this 
question  puts  a  good  lump  of  ice  into  Miss  Trent's 
next  tone. 

"  His  wife  naturally  divorced  him,  and  the  per- 
son who  interests  you  became  Mrs.  Fairfax." 

125 


126  FOES   IN    LAW 

"  And  has  she  run  quite  straight  ever  sincel  *' 

"  As  far  as  I  know.  She  lives  very  quietly,  and  " 
— rather  grudgingly — "  is  extremely  charitable  to 
the  poor.'* 

"  How  long  ago  did  it  happen?  " 

"  I  really  forget;  eight  or  ten  years." 

Mrs.  Trent  takes  a  cigarette  from  a  silver  box 
near  her,  adorned  with  a  too-much  flourished 
monogram,  and  which  Lettice  has  already  recog- 
nized as  one  of  the  objectionable  wedding  presents 
from  the  distaff  side,  and,  striking  a  match  with  a 
vicious  little  scratch,  as  if  she  wished  it  were  on  her 
sister-in-law's  head,  lights  it. 

"  And  you  none  of  you  go  near  her?  "  she  says 
in  a  voice  which  for  her  is  low. 

"  She  is,  naturally,  not  visited." 

Marie  leans  her  head  as  far  back  as  it  will  go 
over  the  cushioned  chair — not  one  of  the  sacred 
ones — on  which  she  is  sitting,  and  gives  a  kick  at 
some  imaginary  object  with  one  little  swinging 
foot.  Then  she  sits  up  straight,  and  war  is  in  her 
great  dark  eyes. 

"  I  dare  say  she  is  worth  the  whole  Pharisaical 
lot  put  together.  I  shall  go  and  call  on  her  to- 
morrow." 

But  here  the  roof  of  Trent  Manor  is  provi- 
dentially saved  from  being  blown  off  by  the  en- 
trance of  the  two  men. 

"  We  have  been  quarrelling!  "  cries  Marie,  jump- 
ing up,  and  making  a  raid  upon  Jim.  "  Come  into 
the  conservatory,  and  I  will  tell  you  my  version  of 
it.  We  have  not  had  time,  you  say?  Oh  yes,  we 
have.    We  began  at  once." 

In  a  moment  she  has  whirled  him  off  through 


FOES   IN   LAW  127 

the  glass  doors,  and  in  among  the  blossoming 
camellias  and  Roman  hyacinths. 

The  moment  so  trepidatingly  expected  has  come. 
The  clergyman  stands  for  quite  a  minute  or  two 
watching  the  disappearing  figures — presumably  to 
be  sure  that  they  are  safely  out  of  hearing — before 
he  joins  Miss  Trent  at  the  fire,  where,  to  give  her- 
self a  countenance,  she  is  picking  up  little  hot  coals 
with  a  tiny  pair  of  tongs,  and  dropping  them  into 
the  fire.  If  the  lover's  approach  seemed  a  little  de- 
layed, he  makes  up  for  lost  time.  Tongs,  fingers, 
and  all,  are  at  once  appropriated  by  him. 

"Who  was  right?" 

The  attack  is  so  unexpected  in  its  taking-for- 
grantedness  that  for  a  moment  she  acquiesces  in  it. 
It  is  only  when  something  in  the  young  man's  face 
tells  her  that  his  audacities  may  not  end  where 
they  have  begun,  that  she  recovers  herself  enough 
to  resist. 

In  the  effort  to  be  free  without  any  unladylike 
scuffling,  the  tongs  escape,  and  fall  into  the  fender 
with  a  clatter  disproportioned  to  their  small  ele- 
gance. The  noise,  and  the  prosaic  stooping  to  pick 
them  up,  set  things  on  a  better  footing.  She  can 
answer  his  question  from  a  rational  distance,  and 
in  an  almost  rational  voice. 

"  Right  in  what?  " 

"  In  the  faith  in  a  brother's  celibacy." 

The  triumph  of  his  smile  jars  upon  her,  and  her 
answering  words  let  the  feeling  pierce  through 
them. 

"  Do  you  think  there  is  ever  any  use  in  told-you- 
so-ing?  " 

"  My  landlady  must  have  thought  I  had  gone 


128  FOES   IN   LAW 

mad  when  I  heard  the  news.  I  was  in  dreary  sea- 
side lodgings  where  Taylor  had  sent  me,  because 
he  saw  I  was  going  to  break  down.  You  had  ab- 
solutely unnerved  me!  " 

There  is  such  a  quiver  of  reproach  in  his  voice — 
she  had  forgotten  the  full  beauty  of  that  organ — 
coupled  with  such  a  jubilant  implication  that  his 
sufferings  are  all  in  the  past,  that  a  terrified  wish  to 
put  off  the  inevitable  coming  to  close  quarters 
seizes  the  girl. 

"  It  was  a  very  great — a  very  painful  surprise  to 
me. 

"Painful! "  he  repeats,  with  a  wounded  intona- 
tion— painful  to  get  the  order  of  release!  You  can 
hardly  expect  me  to  sympathize  with  you  there." 
Then,  seeing  that  no  answering  light  comes  into 
her  troubled  face,  he  adds  in  a  lighter  key,  and  with 
a  meaning  glance  towards  the  conservatory  door, 
"  One  must  allow  that  there  were  extenuating  cir- 
cumstances." 

"  If  he  had  meant  his  remark  to  lift  his  love's 
dropped  lids,  he  is  quite  successful." 

"  Do  you  mean  my  sister-in-law's  good  looks?  " 

There  is  no  mistaking  the  accent  used,  and  a 
transient  flash  of  amusement  qualifies  the  amorous 
seriousness  of  Chevening's  face. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  imagine  people  might  think  her 
pretty — people  who  had  eyes  to  spare  to  look  at 
her." 

The  inference  that  the  present  speaker  is  not 
provided  with  those  conveniences  is  so  obvious  that 
Miss  Trent  hurries  to  say  with  mollified  mag- 
nanimity—-» 


FOES   IN    LAW  129 

"  *  Pretty  '  expresses  her  most  inadequately.  She 
is  extremely  beautiful  in  her  style." 

The  magnanimity  would  have  been  more  com- 
plete without  the  last  clause;  but  even  as  it  stands 
the  tribute  is  a  very  respectable  one. 

"  Do  you  think  that  I  came  here  to-day  to  dis- 
cuss her?  " 

There  is  a  directness  of  purpose  in  his  tone, 
which  only  intensifies  her  desire  to  stave  off  the 
crisis. 

"  I  dare  say  that  you  had  a  little  curiosity  to  see 
what  the  person  was  like  who  had  dethroned  your 
old  friend." 

*' Dethroned  I  Is  it  possible  that  that  is  the  way  in 
which  you  look  at  it?  " 

There  is  in  his  tone  such  a  lofty  contempt  for  the 
advantages  he  has  not  lost,  that  she  despises  herself 
for  having  alluded  to  them;  and  mortification  and 
trouble  combine  to  drive  a  drop  of  water  into  the 
corner  of  each  eye. 

"  What  other  way  is  there  of  looking  at  it?  I 
am  dethroned." 

He  does  not  answer  for  the  moment,  except  by 
a  diminution  of  distance  between  them;  but  she 
feels,  with  an  only  half-dismayed  excitement,  that 
her  tears  have  quickened  the  pace. 

"  Why  didn't  you  answer  my  letter?  " 

There  is  no  sound  in  response,  except  that  of  the 
parrot  in  the  distance,  practising  his  most  realistic 
accomplishment,  a  loose  cough. 

"  Why  didn't  you?  " 

She  thinks  he  is  going  to  take  her  hands  again, 
and  puts  them  behind  her. 

"Why  didn't  you?" 


I30  FOES   IN   LAW 

How  oppressive  the  furnace  lit  in  his  eyes  is,  and 
this  passionate  monotony  of  repetition!  She  must 
answer. 

"  I  have  not  your  faculty  of  expression,  and  I  did 
not  know  what  to  write." 

There  is  a  second  of  misery  and  menace  in  his 
look;  then  the  sun  breaks  out  again  with  redoubled 
power. 

"  You  thought  you  could  do  it  better  face  to 
face." 

As  she  neither  yeas  nor  nays  this  explanation,  he 
goes  on  exultantly — 

"  That  is  the  interpretation  that  I  have  been  put- 
ting upon  it — that  you  meant  me  to  put  upon  it, 
didn't  you?  Dare  I  tell  you  how  I  thought  you 
would  answer  me?  " 

He  has  brought  all  his  artillery  to  bear  upon  her, 
adding  that  proximity  which  has  often  set  fire  to 
the  hitherto  unsuspected  tinder  in  many  a  heart. 

She  had  wished  ardently  to  see,  to  hear,  to  touch 
him — it  is  not  his  fault  that  she  has  not  had  more 
of  the  latter  experience — in  order  to  be  sure  that 
this  is  indeed  for  her,  as  so  undoubtedly  for  him, 
the  one  master  feeling  of  a  lifetime;  but  now  that 
she  has  done  all  three  she  is  quite  as  unsure  as  ever. 
In  the  whirling  uncertainty  of  her  sensations  there 
is  only  one  fixed  thought:  *'  If  I  were  quite  sure, 
what  heaven  it  would  be!  "  To  this  thought  comes 
added,  as  an  unworthy  rider,  the  recollection  of 
Marie's  tasteless  jest:  "  It  would  be  impossible  to 
refuse  anything  to  a  man  with  such  a  nose." 

The  fiery  whisper  in  which  Randal  repeats  his 
question,  "  Dare  I  tell  you?  "  plainly  shows  that  he 
will  very  shortly  answer  his  own  question  in  the 


FOES   IN   LAW  131 

afifirmative,  unless  she  takes  stringent  measures  to 
prevent  him. 

She  steps  back  a  pace  on  to  Kirstie,  who  is  try- 
ing to  rub  off  her  imposed  muzzle  against  the  fen- 
der-bars, and  says  curtly — 

"  No,  do  not." 

Then,  with  a  new  reaction,  at  sight  of  the  ireful 
beauty  of  her  lover's  face,  and  the  consciousness  of 
her  own  racing  blood,  thinking  in  a  kind  of  hot  ter- 
ror, "  It  may  be  the  real  thing,  after  all!  I  may  be 
throwing  away  the  real  thing,  after  all!"  she  re- 
calls, and  contradicts  her  first  answer. 

"  Yes,  do,  if  you  wish." 

A  few  moments  later  she  is  staggering  away  from 
him.  He  has  kissed  her  violently,  and  she  has 
kissed  him  back.  It  must  be  the  real  thing,  or  she 
will  never  be  able  to  bear  to  think  of  herself  again. 

Anti-climax  follows  rapidly.  The  innocent  Kir- 
stie, too  young  to  understand  the  situation,  and 
mistaking  the  phenomena  of  love,  which  is  itself  a 
species  of  war,  for  that  vulgarer  kind  with  which 
she  is  better  acquainted,  anxious  to  join  the  melee, 
gets  her  nose  out  sideways  through  her  muzzle,  and 
makes  for  the  clergyman's  heels.  The  clamour 
with  which  she  accompanies  this  action  brings  the 
host  and  hostess  back  out  of  the  conservatory. 

"  What  has  happened  to  that  little  fiend?  "  cries 
Marie's  piercing  treble.  "  Oh,  she  has  got  her 
muzzle  off!  Jim,  for  Heaven's  sake,  pick  up  Lulu!  " 

Jim  obeys;  and  in  the  little  excitement  that  fol- 
lows, the  picking  up  of  the  doddering  old  relic  of 
"  dear  mamma  "  into  the  harbour  of  Jim's  arms, 
whence  she  shows  the  place  where  her  teeth  once 
were  at  Miss  Kirstie,  who,  standing  on  her  stout 


132  FOES   IN   LAW 

Scotch  hind  legs,  with  her  forepaws  propped 
against  Mr.  Trent's  shins,  shouts  her  battle-cry  up- 
wards, and  the  final  ejection  of  Miss  Kirstie  from 
her  own  morning-room  ought  to  give  the  two 
actors  in  the  preceding  drama  time  to  recover 
themselves. 

"  She  really  is  not  fit  to  be  at  liberty/'  cries  the 
bride,  with  lightening  eyes.  Then,  turning  to 
Chevening,  "  Just  feel  how  this  poor  old  thing's 
heart  is  beating.  Did  she  succeed  in  biting  a  piece 
out  of  you?" 

Miss  Trent's  brain  and  senses  are  still  beating 
and  whirHng,  and  it  would  be  impossible  to  her  to 
look  at  the  person  addressed.  But  her  buzzing  ears 
listen  with  confidence  for  his  answer.  He  will  not 
give  poor  Miss  Kirstie  away  for  her  faithful,  if 
erroneous,  championship  of  the  woman  who  has 
just  made  him  the  enormous  sacrifice  of  the  first 
kiss  of  her  life.  With  what  words  of  deHcate  in- 
cisiveness,  mixed  with  occult  hints  of  fervid  grati- 
tude, which  only  she  can  understand,  will  he  rebuke 
the  interloper  for  her  insolence  and  incivility?  She 
has  not  long  to  wait,  but  she  can  hardly  believe  in 
the  sentence  which  comes  wafted  on  an  angry 
laugh. 

"  Little  brute!    It  is  not  her  fault  if  she  did  not." 

"  Did  she  go  for  you  quite  unprovoked?  "  pur- 
sues the  bride,  with  heated  interest.  "  What  had 
you  done  to  provoke  her?  " 

The  query  is  a  natural  one  under  the  circum- 
stances; but  this  time  Chevening's  answer  is  not 
ready. 

Lettice  shoots  a  look  of  agonized  appeal  at  her 
fellow  criminal,  which  she  at  once  withdraws,  hav- 


FOES   IN   LAW  133 

ing  only  mastered  the  dreadful  fact  that  a  hair  of 
her  own  is  flagrantly  sticking  on  the  shoulder  of 
his  coat!  Has  Marie  seen  it?  Was  there  a  lurid 
meaning  in  her  apparently  harmless  question?  She 
peeps  hurriedly  at  Mrs.  Trent,  but  her  eye's  theft 
brings  no  satisfaction  with  it.  Marie  has  always 
that  horrid  sparkle  about  her!  Whether  or  no  it 
is  intensified  at  this  moment,  poor  Miss  Trent  is 
quite  unable  to  decide.  She  makes  a  bewildered 
calculation  as  to  how  near  the  conservatory  doors 
the  interrupters  must  have  been  when  The  Event 
was  happening.  Very,  very  near,  undoubtedly,  and 
yet,  if — oh,  horror  of  horrors! — they  had  seen,  Jim 
would  never  be  speaking  as  he  is  in  his  level,  placid, 
everyday  voice. 

"  Aberdeen  terriers  are  always  rather  short  in  the 
temper!" 

It  is  his  contribution  of  oil  to  the  waves;  and  his 
sister  draws  a  reUeved  inference  from  it.  She  has 
nothing  further  to  upset  her  through  the  brief 
remnant  of  Randal's  visit,  during  which  he  shields 
her  from  notice  by  devoting  himself  entirely  to 
Marie  and  Lulu,  asking  the  latter's  age,  and  falsely 
admiring  her  breeding  and  manners. 

It  is  only  when  the  visitor  is  gone,  and  Jim  has 
walked  a  few  frosty  paces  of  homeward  way  with 
him,  leaving  the  sisters-in-law  alone  together,  that 
a  new  and  awful  bolt  falls  and  splits  Lettice's  head. 

"  It  is  a  beautiful  nose!  "  says  Marie,  cavalierly, 
but  without  repeating  her  objectionable  sentiment, 
"  and  if  I  had  not  such  a  cold  I  should  certainly  go 
to  hear  him  hold  forth  to-night.  I  have  a  real  ser- 
vant's taste  for  evening  church.  But  he  deserves 
to  be  better  valeted.    His  landlady  should  not  send 


134  FOES   IN   LAW 

him  out  with  long  hairs  on  his  coat-sleeve."  Hav- 
ing said  it,  she  goes  out  of  the  room  lilting. 

It  is  upon  an  absolutely  transmogrified  world 
that  Miss  Trent's  eyes — late  in  closing — open  next 
morning.  The  change  is  not  in  the  face  of  nature, 
for  the  frost  still  holds,  and  from  her  bed  she  can 
see  its  evidence  written  large  on  the  cold  red  east, 
on  the  iron  trees  and  the  mournful  rooks. 

It  is  within  herself  that  the  prodigious  meta- 
morphosis is  wrought.  Yesterday,  as  she  lay  here, 
at  the  same  hour,  looking  out  at  the  same  phe- 
nomena, she  was  herself,  her  own.  To-day !  Well, 
it  is  the  real  thing!  Never  again  must  she  allow 
the  possibility  that  it  is  not  to  cross  her  mind.  It 
must  be!  If  it  had  not  been,  is  it  conceivable  that 
she — she  of  all  people  (he  had  told  her  that  she  was 
made  of  snow,  comes  in  soothing  parenthesis) — 

should  have,  of  her  own  accord Yes,  that  is 

what  makes  it  so  irrevocable,  it  was  of  her  own  ac- 
cord. Well,  there  is  nothing  now  left  for  her,  no 
shattering  uncertainties  or  tormenting  doubts, 
nothing  but  to  enter  in  and  take  possession  of  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,  whose  key  her  own  hand  has 
turned. 

With  thoughts  so  radiantly  coloured  as  she  tells 
herself  hers  are,  it  is  surprising  that  her  maid  on 
calling  her  asks  whether  she  has  a  headache. 

At  breakfast  the  illusion  might  be  possible  to 
Miss  Trent  that  the  old  regime  still  exists — the  two 
places  laid;  the  emancipated  and  royally  disobe- 
dient Kirstie  continually  returning  to  the  forbidden 
ecstasy  of  routing  through  the  shut  window  the 
colony  of  expectant  birds  outside,  and  having  her 


FOES   IN   LAW  135 

sin  repeatedly  condoned  by  the  weak-minded  pair 
inside.  Yet  there  is  a  difference.  Formerly  the 
brother  and  sister  had  never  heeded  whether  they 
were  talking  or  not,  in  the  reliant  certainty  of  com- 
plete understanding,  whether  mute  or  vocal.  Now 
there  is  a  slight  tendency  towards  making  polite 
conversation  for  each  other;  but  it  is  not  very 
marked.  There  is  in  Jim's  manner — to  his  trepidat- 
ing  sister's  acute  relief — no  evidence  that  Marie  has 
imparted  to  him  the  discovery  made  by  her  terrible 
eyes,  and  the  catering  for  the  birds  is  an  immense 
help. 

Through  the  winter  and  far  into  the  spring,  when 
they  become  picksome  and  dainty,  the  winged 
singers  are  liberally  entertained  at  Trent;  and  the 
word  must  have  gone  about  among  them  that  it 
is  so,  for  they  now  daily  crowd  the  terrace  walk 
in  unscrupulous  multitudes,  pathetically  hunger- 
tamed,  flying  on  little  weakened  pinions,  and  yet 
with  spirit  enough  left  to  peck  and  snub  and  eject 
each  other  as  occasion  offers. 

In  holding  back  the  struggling,  straining  Kirstie 
from  raiding  them  when  the  window  is  opened,  in 
pointing  out  to  each  other  the  new  arrivals,  in 
counting  the  blue-tits  standing  on  their  heads  in- 
side the  cocoa-nut,  the  finches  pecking  the  sus- 
pended lard,  and  the  thirsty  thrushes  drinking  out 
of  the  earthen  pans,  brother  and  sister  are  them- 
selves again.  It  is  not  Jim's  fault  that  they  do  not 
part  without  a  slight  jar,  which  begins  by  a  polite 
inquiry  from  Lettice  as  to  the  state  of  her  sister- 
in-law's  cold. 

"  It  is  decidedly  better.  Why  do  not  you  go  up 
and  see  her?  " 


136  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  Do  not  you  think  that  every  Englishwoman's 
bedroom  is  her  castle?  We  might  quarrel  so  early 
in  the  morning  " — laughing,  not  quite  pleasantly. 
"  By-the-by,  as  she  told  you  her  version  of  our  dis- 
pute yesterday,  I  suppose  I  ought  to  tell  you  mine." 

"  She  never  told  me  any  version,"  replies  Jim, 
sighing  wearily.    "  She  never  mentioned  it  or  you." 

The  implication  that  they  had  been  occupied 
with  pleasanter  topics  than  herself,  though  unin- 
tended, galls  Miss  Trent  so  much  as  to  drown  the 
remorse  she  would  otherwise  have  felt  at  having 
been  so  manifestly  outdone  in  magnanimity. 

"  Marie  announced  her  intention  of  calling  on 
Mrs.  Fairfax." 

"Well?" 

"  Well!  "  Seeing  an  unwonted  danger-signal  in 
Jim's  slow  eye,  she  adds,  "  Of  course  she  does  not 
know  the  carte-du-pays — what  is  possible  and  im- 
possible here.  Just  conceive  what  our  mother's 
feelings  would  have  been  at  such  a  suggestion!  " 

There  is  a  moment's  silence,  during  which  the 
thought  may  have  crossed  Jim's  unimaginative 
mind  that  there  are  advantages  attached  to  being  a 
foundling.    Then  he  says — 

"  If  no  one  did  anything  but  what  their  parents 
had  done  before  them,  the  world  would  not  get  on 
much." 

It  is  a  truism  of  the  purest  dye,  and  uttered  with 
commendable  temper,  but  to  his  sister  it  seems  as 
if  the  red  flag  of  anarchy  were  waving  in  blood  be- 
fore her  eyes.  But  even  her  sister-in-law's  iniquities 
recede  into  the  background  of  her  mind,  whence 
they  had  been  only  momentarily  drawn,  annihilated 
by  the  overwhelming  interest  of  her  own  affairs. 


FOES   IN    LAW  137 

Randal  will,  of  course,  be  here  almost  before  she 
can  draw  breath  to  ask  Jim  for  her.  He  may  ar- 
rive at  any  moment.  With  his  headlong  passion 
and  the  weapon  she  herself  has  put  into  his  hand 
he  will  expect  to  carry  all  before  him.  What  may 
be  the  effect  of  any  obstacle  put  in  the  floodtide  of 
such  a  torrent  she  dares  not  speculate. 

And  Jim?  Since  his  first  contemptuous  recep- 
tion of  the  news  of  Chevening's  declaration,  on  the 
evening  when  he  had  announced  his  own  marriage, 
the  subject  seems  to  have  passed  absolutely  from 
his  mind.  Marie  is,  no  doubt,  the  sponge  that  has 
wiped  it_away,  as  she  has  wiped  all  else.  He  has 
seen,  with  apparent  oblivion  of  any  reason  for  a 
difference,  the  reappearance  of  the  curate  at  the 
Sunday  luncheon-table,  nor  did  his  face  afterwards 
show  the  least  consciousness  of  anything  abnormal 
in  the  appearance  of  the  two  countenances  so 
guiltily  conscious  of  their  recent  juxtaposition.  Is 
it  possible  that  he  can  have  utterly  forgotten? 

There  is  profound  mortification  in  the  thought 
that  it  may  be  so;  and  yet  the  alternative,  that  a 
wish  to  be  rid  of  her  may  have  reconciled  him  to 
the  prospect,  is  not  much  more  comforting.  To  be 
given  up  with  reluctant  blessings  and  regrets  to  her 
lover  is  the  boon  to  which,  of  all  others,  she  must 
now  most  aspire,  but  against  being  thrown  into 
his  arms  as  into  a  waste-paper  basket  heart  and 
spirit  revolt.  Will  it  be  better  to  prepare  Jim  a  lit- 
tle? 

Recalling  that  she  has  already  succeeded  in 
ruffling  him,  and  realizing  that  in  her  present  state 
of  high  tension  any  repetition  of  the  ridicule  with 
which  he  had  received  her  former  announcement 


138  FOES  IN   LAW 

would  be  more  than  she  could  bear,  she  decides  to 
wait  quietly  for  what  will  happen.  But  to  wait 
quietly — that  is  just  what  on  trial  seems  most  im- 
possible. 

She  goes  to  her  own  sitting-room,  the  room  over 
her  retention  of  which  she  has  kept  what  so  far 
seems  an  unnecessarily  bristling  watch.  The  win- 
dows command  the  park  and  the  path  by  which  the 
expected  one  will  approach. 

In  a  half-fascinated  fear  of  seeing  him  too  soon, 
she  turns  resolutely  away.  The  room  is  crowded 
with  relics  of  her  departed  parent.  It  had  been  her 
mother's,  and  in  the  first  irrational  devotion  of  her 
grief  she  had  resolved  that  nothing  in  it  should 
ever  be  changed.  It  has  been  impossible  to  adhere 
quite  literally  to  this  determination.  Time  and 
new  tastes  have  made  creeping  encroachments;  an 
extra  bookcase  has  been  needed  to  contain  the 
books  recommended,  and  in  some  cases  given,  by 
Randal,  but  the  character  of  the  room  is  unaltered. 
The  bureau  is  the  same  one  whose  drawers  and 
pigeon-holes  have  since  her  earliest  childhood  been 
filled  with  the  accounts,  records,  and  documents  of 
the  numerous  local  charities  founded  or  supported 
by  the  late  Mrs.  Trent.  She  sits  down  at  it,  casting 
her  eyes  with  a  melancholy  pride  over  the  neatly 
docketed  and  admirably  arranged  files.  How  well 
she  has  carried  out  tht  charge  that  had  devolved 
upon  her! 

Perhaps  it  will  be  wise  to  glance  in  final  survey 
over  the  receipts,  cheque-books,  etc.,  before  giving 
them  up  into  the  hands — how  woefully  incompe- 
tent!— of  her  successor.  She  carries  out  her  in- 
tention conscientiously,  though  ungi,ble  to  prevent 


FOES   IN   LAW  139 

her  thoughts  fluttering  agitatedly  away  from  bene- 
fit clubs  and  mothers'  guilds,  or  to  check  the 
palpitating  listening  for  a  door-bell  which  could  not 
possibly  be  audible. 

Now  and  again,  as  evidences  of  her  own  method 
and  order  meet  her  eye,  the  thought  comes  streaked 
with  satisfaction  of  what  an  admirable  clergyman's 
wife  she  will  make. 

A  clergyman's  wife!  A  clergyman!  There  is 
something  ludicrously  incongruous  between  the 
two  phrases  and  her  latest  memory  of  him.  What 
was  there  of  the  spiritual  guide  and  the  earnest  dis- 
ciple in  that  mad  embrace? 

The  answer  comes  clothed  in  scarlet,  and  her 
forehead  falls  forward  on  a  sheaf  of  Friendly  Girls. 
But  she  raises  it  presently,  shaking  off  the  virgin 
shame  that  oppresses  her.  If  it  is  the  real  thing,  as 
it  is,  as  it  is,  as  it  is,  there  is  nothing  to  blush  for. 

He  has  told  her  that  his  is  not  one  of  the  exalted 
natures  that  can  do  without  the  prop  of  human 
love,  that  lacking  it,  soul  and  intellect  starve  and 
perish.  Well,  he  shall  have  it.  Having  once  given, 
there  shall  be  no  niggardly  doling  out  of  her  gift. 
He  shall  have  "  full  measure,  pressed  down,  and 
shaken  together,  and  running  over." 

She  has  plenty  of  time  to  plan  her  liberality, 
plenty  of  time  for  her  heart  to  glow  and  unglow 
again,  for  the  morning  passes  and  nothing  hap- 
pens. 


CHAPTER  XI 

By  luncheon-time  Miss  Trent  is  in  an  unenviable 
state  of  mind,  but  of  the  many  hypotheses  she  has 
started  to  account  for  the  unaccountable,  one  has 
ousted  the  others,  namely,  that  he  has  been  con- 
temptuously dismissed  by  Jim,  without  any  refer- 
ence to  herself. 

The  idea  fills  her  with  blazing  indignation,  and 
she  has  to  take  herself  well  in  hand  before  she  can 
respond,  with  tolerable  calm,  to  the  gong's  admira- 
bly punctual  summons. 

Jim  is  already  in  his  place,  and  there  is  no  sign 
of  guilt  or  agitation  in  his  contented  face  and  even 
voice. 

"  Marie  says  we  are  not  to  wait  for  her." 

It  is  a  formula  that  both  of  them  are  destined 
to  become  well  acquainted  with,  and  ultimately  to 
dispense  with  as  superfluous. 

When  luncheon  is  half  over  the  mistress  of  the 
house  saunters  in,  but  even  then  does  not  sit  down 
in  her  place,  but  strolls  round  the  table,  picking  a 
grape  here,  cutting  herself  a  slice  of  chocolate  cake 
there.  She  ends  by  setting  Lulu  upon  the  table- 
cloth, and  inviting  her  to  walk  across  it  to  Jim. 

The  old  dog,  who  in  her  day  has  been  a  beauty 
and  a  Japanese  spaniel,  accomplishes  this  feat  in 
time,  with  only  the  two  casualties  of  an  overset 
water-bottle  and  a  broken  flower-glass. 

140 


FOES   IN    LAW  141 

The  performance  is  witnessed  with  an  ire  too 
deep  for  barks  by  Miss  Kirstie,  who,  seated  on  her 
high  chair,  whence  she  is  not  allowed  to  extend 
even  a  paw  towards  the  board,  testifies  in  short 
muzzled  howls  against  this  disgraceful  instance  of 
nepotism. 

As  far  as  inclination  goes,  her  mistress  could 
bark  too.  She  relieves  her  feelings  by  quoting  im- 
aginary remarks  made  by  Kirstie  upon  favouritism, 
interlopers,  etc. 

Marie  rejoins,  with  improbably  smart  repartees, 
attributed  to  the  tottering  Lulu. 

Mrs.  Trent  gets  so  much  the  best  of  it  in  this 
amiable  game,  that  Kirstie's  guns  are  soon  silenced. 

Whether  pleased  at  her  own  success,  or  in  con- 
cession to  a  distressed  wrinkle  in  her  husband's 
brow,  Marie  ceases  to  be  Lulu's  mouth-piece,  and 
addresses  a  civil  question  to  her  sister-in-law. 

"  Has  she  been  out  this  morning?  " 

"  No,  she  has  not." 

The  other  expresses  polite  surprise.  "  I  thought 
that  you  were  such  an  out-of-door  person — Jim 
has  always  held  you  up  to  me  as  an  example — that 
you  never  could  stay  indoors  in  any  weather." 

Miss  Trent  winces.  Does  that  hateful  sparkle 
and  curiosity  mean  more  than  appears? 

"  I  was  busy  " — adding,  in  elucidation,  and  with 
a  pale  hope  of  being  disagreeable — "  busy  looking 
over  the  accounts  of  the  societies  I  have  managed, 
before  giving  them  over  to  you." 

She  is  successful.  For  a  minute  Marie  looks  dis- 
comfited, but  cannot,  in  the  end,  be  said  to  be 
worsted,  though  her  rejoinder  is  smilingly  ad- 
dressed to  Jim. 


142  FOES   IN   LAW 

"You  kept  the  'societies'  dark!  If  you  had 
mentioned  them  you  knew  that  I  should  have 
shown  you  the  door!  " 

Her  delicate  features  resume  their  serenity.  Al- 
ready she  has  learnt  that  nothing  stirs  her  sister-in- 
law  to  such  blind  dumb  wrath  as  the  implication 
that  there  ever  was,  or  could  be,  any  doubt  as  to 
her  own  alacrity  in  accepting  Mr.  Trent.  She  has 
eaten  hardly  any  luncheon;  but  she  strolls,  pleased, 
out  of  the  dining-room,  feeling  that  she  has 
"  scored." 

A  little  later,  Lettice,  restlessly  walking  about  the 
morning-room,  overhears,  through  the  open  door,  a 
dialogue  between  the  wedded  pair,  who  have  ap- 
parently come  into  the  hall. 

"  Have  you  finished  your  letters?  " 

"  Yes." 

"What  a  budget!" 

There  is  no  objectionable  lilt  in  the  voice  that 
answers — 

"  How  should  I  live  if  I  did  not  write  to  them?  " 

The  rejoinder  has  a  note  of  distress.  "  You  miss 
them  as  badly  as  you  expected?  " 

No  audible  answer,  but  the  clumsy  haste  of  a 
slov/  man  in  the  consolatory. 

"  Summer  will  soon  be  here." 

"  Soon! " 

"  And  meanwhile,  when  I  can  get  away,  we  will 
run  up  to  the  Albemarle  for  a  fortnight  or  so;  and 
you  shall  go  and  see  Esmeralda  every  night  in  the 
new  play.  Every  night!  Gabriel  shall  take  you. 
Just  you  and  he  alone." 

"  No,  no;  you  shall  come  too.  I  do  not  mind 
my  old  Freak! " 


FOES   IN   LAW  143 

The  high  gaiety  is  returning  to  her  tones, 

"And  now  you  are  going  to  let  me  drive  you 
down  to  the  village  in  the  pony-cart?  " 

"  Yes;  and  you  will  take  me  to  call  on  Mrs. 
Fairfax? '' 

"  Of  course,  if  you  wish/' 

"  What  would  PoHceman  X  say?  " 

They  have  gone  off  laughing  together  before 
Lettice  realizes  that  the  engaging  sobriquet  applies 
to  herself;  and  is  evidently  one  habitually  used  be- 
tween husband  and  wife. 

Puzzled,  mortified,  miserable,  she  watches  them 
drive  off,  the  fresh  pony  pulling  like  mad,  the  har- 
ness-mounts flashing,  and  Marie,  toqued  like  a 
tropical  bird,  unsuitable,  Londony,  and  lovely, 
sending  her  sharp  mirth  through  the  stinging  still- 
ness of  the  air. 

Miss  Trent's  eyes  wander  from  her  dwindling 
relatives  to  the  church  path,  upon  which  no  human 
speck  is  yet  visible.  What  can  have  so  changed 
him?  Illness?  Perhaps,  highly  strung  as  he  is, 
weakened  by  previous  suffering,  the  sudden  reac- 
tion from  despair  to  such  intense  joy  may  have 
brought  on  a  return  of  nerve-breakdown. 

As  the  hours  pass,  and  he  does  not  appear,  this 
theory  establishes  itself  more  and  more  firmly  in 
her  mind.  In  restless  discomfort  she  goes  out-of- 
doors,  telling  the  butler — an  inward  blush  accom- 
panies the  announcement — that  she  does  not  mean 
to  leave  the  gardens. 

One  of  the  head-gardener's  boys  has  broken  his 
leg  playing  hockey  on  the  ice,  and  she  goes  to  see 
him;  the  main  motive  of  her  visit  leavened,  per- 
haps, by  a  hope  of  hearing  soothing  regrets  for  the 


144  FOES   IN   LAW 

old  regime  from  the  boy's  mother,  to  whom  she  has 
always  been  specially  kind. 

Mrs.  Macneill  is  not,  apparently,  of  those  who 
"  let  others  hail  the  rising  sun !  "  She  prefers  to 
do  it  herself;  and  her  enthusiasm  is  excessive  over 
the  bride's  beauty  and  the  graciousness  of  her  man- 
ner, which  seeriis  to  have  consisted  in  slapping  the 
whole  family  on  the  back,  literally  as  well  as  figur- 
atively, when  brought  by  Jim  to  make  their  ac- 
quaintance. 

It  is  with  spirits,  to  say  the  least,  not  raised  that 
Miss  Trent  takes  leave. 

The  coachman's  wife  has  a  quinsy,  and  the  next 
visit  is  paid  to  her.  She  is  in  bed,  choking,  and  al- 
most inarticulate,  yet  finds  means  to  convey  her 
sense  of  the  extraordinary  rejuvenation  wrought 
by  his  marriage  in  the  squire.  Through  the  fumes 
of  a  steam-kettle  she  sends  her  opinion  that  "  he 
does  not  look  like  the  same  gentleman." 

Lettice  Hstens  in  silence,  and  departs,  saying  to 
herself  that  the  feudal  feeling  is  extinct.  No  hurry- 
ing footman  pursues  her  to  stove  or  fernery;  and 
she  is  able  to  end  her  cold — in  every  sense — giro 
undisturbed. 

Jim  returns  alone  to  tea.  "  I  left  Marie  at  the 
church.  The  brougham  is  to  fetch  her  at  half-past 
six." 

"  At  the  church?  " 

"  Yes,  playing  the  organ.  You  know  how  mu- 
sical she  is! " 

Lettice  does  not  know  it;  the  memory  of  the 
punished  piano  and  the  deafening  music-hall  cho- 
ruses in  the  Wimbledon  drawing-room  have  led 
her  to  no  such  conclusion. 


FOES   IN   LAW  145 

"  Did  you  leave  her  alone  there?  " 

"  Well,  no,  Chevening  was  with  her;  he  had  been 
showing  her  the  church,  and  he  very  good-natur- 
edly offered  to  blow  for  her." 

"Oh!" 

"  Marie  asked  him  to  dinner  to-night.  I — I  hope 
you  do  not  mind?  " 

"  Mind!    Why  should  I  mind?  " 

"  Oh,  that  is  all  right." 

The  relief  of  his  tone,  coupled  with  the  slight 
trouble  that  had  marked  the  announcement  of  his 
wife's  hospitahty,  shows  Lettice  that  he  has  not 
forgotten. 

All  right!  That  is  scarcely  the  epithet  that  his 
sister  applies  to  the  situation  when  she  escapes  to 
her  room  a  little  later  to  face  it  alone. 

Mrs.  Trent  returns  in  tearing  spirits,  highly  audi- 
ble before  she  is  well  within  the  hall  door,  scorning 
the  summons  of  the  dressing-bell,  resolutely  stay- 
ing on  in  the  morning-room  with  one  paste-buckled 
foot  on  the  fender,  and  her  Macaw  toque  a  good 
deal  on  one  side,  while  she  jubilantly  goes  over 
again  with  Jim  the  details  of  what  has  evidently 
been  a  triumphal  progress  through  the  village. 

At  dinner  her  radiancy  and  her  volubility  reach 
a  still  higher  level.  She  has  a  thousand  questions 
to  put  to  Chevening  as  to  his  flock,  and  if  he  does 
not  immediately  recognize  by  her  description  those 
members  of  it  to  whom  she  is  alluding,  recklessly 
mimics  their  peculiarities  in  utter  disregard  of  the 
silent  critics  in  and  out  of  livery  behind  her  chair. 

As  Lettice  listens  she  realizes  with  painful  won- 
der how  much  more  the  village  has  come  out  to  its 
new  patroness  in  an  hour  than  a  lifetime  of  not  con- 


146  FOES   IN   LAW 

sciously  condescending  kindness  had  ever  made  it 
do  to  its  old  one.  The  ancient  gentlewomen  living 
each  on  her  microscopic  rentes  in  little  houses 
round  the  common,  Miss  Smith,  Miss  Butler,  and 
Miss  Lamotte,  have  apparently  confided  to  Mrs. 
Trent  dark  suspicions  of  their  "  generals  "  and  lit- 
tle grievances  against  each  other,  such  as  her  sister- 
in-law  has  never  evoked;  and  even  Mrs.  Taylor 
— Lettice  had  thought  that  Mrs.  Taylor  would  be 
loyal — has  breathed  to  this  brand-new  comer  that 
revolt  against  Providence  for  her  unclerical  paucity 
of  children  and  plethora  of  bilious  headaches,  which 
Miss  Trent  had  imagined  to  have  been  dropped 
into  her  own  safe  ear  alone.    But  worse  follows. 

"  And  the  hall — the  Rachel  Hall,  as  you  call  it? 
Why  do  you  call  it  so?  " 

"  It  was  built  in  memory  of  Mrs.  Trent;  her 
name  was  Rachel,'*  replies  Randal,  in  a  lowered 
voice,  stealing  a  surreptitious  look  across  at 
Lettice. 

Her  eyes  are  on  her  plate.  She  is  dressed  with 
rigid  simplicity;  certainly  paler,  and  if  possible, 
neater  than  ever,  the  little  bunch  of  snowdrops  she 
wears  completing  the  picture  of  almost  awful 
chastity  which  she  presents.  The  wonder  flashes 
across  the  curate's  brain  whether  this  lofty  virgin 
can  be  the  creature  who  twenty-four  hours  ago 
clung  about  his  neck  with  a  passion  scarcely  infe- 
rior to  his  own. 

"  Oh,  I  see! " — ^with  a  perceptible  drop  of  the 
voice  too,  and  a  slight  respectful  pause.  Then, 
with  a  thrill  of  delight  and  interest,  "  You  give 
plays  and  entertainments  there?  " 

**  No-o;    we    have    temperance    meetings,    and 


FOES   IN   LAW  147 

University  Extension  Lectures,  and  sometimes  a 
magic  lantern." 

Marie's  jaw  drops  for  a  moment,  but  only  for  a 
moment. 

"  We  must  get  up  something  when  my  sister 
comes.  That  depends,  of  course,  upon  how  long 
the  new  play  runs.  You  know  that  she  is  on  the 
stage — lucky  girl!  So  should  I  be,  if  Jim  had  not 
insisted  on  marrying  me." 

She  heaves  a  loud  sigh,  and  Lettice's  large  white 
eyelids  slightly  quiver.  All  the  servants  are  in  the 
room.  Mrs.  Trent's  elbows  are  on  the  table — 
where  they  mostly  are — and  her  hands  are  flourish- 
ing about.  Her  unusual  amount  of  gesticulation 
is,  no  doubt,  part  of  the  heritage  from  "  dear 
mamma." 

"  I  want  to  get  up  a  ballet,"  pursues  Marie,  giv- 
ing a  delighted  glint  of  her  eye  in  the  direction  of 
the  ice  statue  of  disapproval  on  her  left.  "  Mrs. 
Taylor  says  that  she  has  never  seen  a  ballet!  I  have 
a  club  of  ballet-girls  in  London,  and  am  going  to 
have  them  down  here,  three  or  four  at  a  time,  to 
rest  and  recoup.  Poor  things,  they  are  dreadfully 
overworked!  but  they  will  not  stay  if  they  are  not 
amused — quite  right,  too." 

She  throws  this  gage  across  the  table  at  Jim, 
in  obvious  challenge;  but  his  mode  of  taking  it  up 
is  to  nod  in  baffling  assent,  with  a  smile  that  seems 
to  say,  "  You  are  not  going  to  get  a  rise  out  of 
me. 

The  bride  turns  again  to  Chevening.  "  Have 
you  ever  acted?  " 

"Yes,  now  and  then,  before  I  took  Holy 
Orders." 


148  FOES   IN    LAW 

"  Never  since?  " 

Her  little  face  is  brimful  of  gay  relish  for  the 
flippancy  of  her  implication.  His  ladylove  listen- 
ing in  unspeakable  protest,  is  pleased  to  hear  some- 
thing of  the  Apostle  note  that  has  always  awed 
herself  in  the  stifif-backed  quality  of  his  rejoinder. 

"  Not  consciously,  I  hope.'* 

It  is  the  one  bright  spot  during  dinner.  Per- 
haps because  the  rebuke  is  so  absolutely  ignored  as 
to  lead  only  to  a  comprehensive  offer  to  coach  him 
for  any  role  he  may  like  to  undertake,  and  to 
searching  inquiries  as  to  what  class  or  part  he  most 
shone  in  during  his  lay  career,  that  the  note  of  dis- 
approval does  not  reappear. 

What  does  reappear  is  Lulu,  threading  her 
dilapidated  way  among  the  decanters;  dropping 
her  early  Victorian  ringlets  over  the  dishes;  get- 
ting her  tail  into  the  candles.  And  not  a  sign  of 
regret  that  Miss  Kirstie's  high  chair  knows  her 
no  more  comes  to  soothe  her  swelling-hearted 
mistress. 

Will  Marie  never  remove  her  elbow  and  push 
back  her  chair,  and  finish  the  cigarette,  held  so  long 
between  two  fingers  in  the  eagerness  of  her  chatter, 
as  to  go  out?  She  does  so  at  last,  and  the  ex-mis- 
tress, chafed  and  mortified,  passes,  still  downcast- 
eyed,  through  the  door. 

Marie  throws  herself  into  a  chair,  and  drawing 
a  candle  towards  her,  lights  a  fresh  cigarette. 

"  The  conservatory  is  not  lit,"  she  says,  "  so  I 
can't  take  Jim  there  to-night;  but  I  will  join  him 
in  the  smoking-room." 

She  says  it  in  her  most  off-hand  way,  and  there 
is  no  detectable  malice  in  her  eye;    but  Lettice 


FOES   IN   LAW  149 

starts,  wincing.  There  is  no  attempt  to  disguise 
the  fact  that  Mrs.  Trent  is  behind  the  scenes. 

"  I  can't  think  why  he  went  into  the  Church," 
pursues  Marie,  still  enacting  the  proverbial  fool's 
part,  but  with  no  apparent  consciousness  of  it.  "  I 
am  sure  he  has  no  vocation,  and  " — regretfully — 
"  he  would  have  made  a  good  actor." 

It  is  too  much,  and  poor  Miss  Trent  gives  herself 
away. 

"  I  think,  if  you  do  not  mind,  we  will  not  discuss 
him." 

Mrs.  Trent  is  as  good  as  her  word,  and  without 
taking  much  trouble  to  disguise  the  overtness  of 
her  intentions,  leaps  to  her  feet  on  the  entrance  of 
the  two  men,  and  publicly  recapturing  her  kicked- 
off  shoes,  whirls  the  unprotesting,  as  much  as  un- 
comprehending, Jim  away  into  space. 

Chevening  looks  after  her  for  the  few  seconds 
she  remains  in  sight,  before  he  faces  his  mistress 
with  the  question — 

"  Does  she  know?  " 

Miss  Trent  is  standing  drawn  up  in  ruffled,  yet 
trembling  maidenliness  against  the  jamb  of  the  tall 
chimney-piece. 

"  I  do  not  know." 

There  is  trouble  and  agitation  and  injury  in  her 
whole  aspect.  The  next  moment  she  is  clasped 
without  preface  or  permit  to  his  high  black  breast. 

Her  first  impulse  is  to  escape  from  the  sudden 
taken-for-grantedness;  but,  remembering  that  it  is 
the  real  thing,  and  that  her  over-night  action  leaves 
no  doubt  that  she  is  as  much  swept  oiT  her  feet  as 
he,  she  acquiesces,  and  her  rejoinder  to  his  per- 
fervid  "At  last! "  is  so  full  of  upbraiding  passion 


15©  FOES   IN   LAW 

as  to  thrill  with  astonishment  both  herself  and  him. 
Her  stout  virginal  defence  of  the  outworks  had 
not  prepared  him  for  so  sudden  and  complete  a  sur- 
render of  heart  and  lips. 

"  Why  is  it  at  last?  "  her  mouth  sighs  to  his. 

"  You  may  well  ask,  sweet." 

But  it  is  several  seconds  before  his  sweet  gets 
any  other  explanation  than  inarticulate  caresses. 

"  I  have  expected  you  all  day." 

They  sit  down  at  last,  holding  each  other's  hands. 

"  It  has  been  a  day  of  annoyances,"  the  curate 
begins,  with  a  ring  of  unfeigned  irritation  in  his 
voice.  "  All  morning  I  was  with  the  vicar,  trying 
to  get  him  to  see  reason." 

*' About  what?" 

Chevening  passes  a  long,  well-bred  hand — his 
only  free  one — over  his  silky  hair  with  a  gesture  of 
impatience. 

"  I  have  been  asked  to  preach  at  Swyndford,  the 
Duke  of  Swyndford's,  on  behalf  of  the  Duchess's 
Home  for  Fallen  Mothers." 

"  Yes?  and  the  vicar  objects?  " — incredulously. 

"  He  made  a  difficulty  over  it.  The  date  is,  un- 
luckily, that  on  which  the  Bishop  of  Stepney  is  to 
preach  at  Bradling,  and  it  seems  Taylor  had  set  his 
heart  upon  going  to  hear  him — at  least,  that  is 
what  he  said;  perhaps,  without  his  knowing  it,  a 
little  jalousie  de  metier  came  in  too." 

"  Oh,  no,  I  am  sure  not!  " — ^warmly.  "  So  you 
have  had  to  refuse?  " 

"  No-o.  The  vicar  is  a  right-thinking  fellow, 
and  he  saw  at  last  that  he  had  no  business  to  stand 
in  my  light.  It  is  an  opening  fraught  with  possi- 
bilities.   The  duke  has  an  immense  amount  of  pat- 


FOES   IN    LAW  151 

ronage,  which  the  duchess  practically  dispenses.  It 
may  be  the  beginning  of  better  things!  Now  more 
than  ever" — the  falcon  eye  lightening,  and  chest 
expanding — "  with  such  an  incentive  as  you  have 
given  me,  I  am  resolved  not  to  be  much  longer 
curate  of  Trent." 

She  listens  doubtfully,  halting  between  two  opin- 
ions, catching  something  of  the  flame  of  his  ambi- 
tion, yet  not  quite  content  with  its  quality,  and 
heartily  distressed  at  the  unselfish  vicar  having 
been  pushed  to  the  wall. 

"You  are  glad?  "  he  asks,  his  own  brow  clouding 
a  little  at  the  cloud  on  hers.  "  Oh,  if  you  knew 
what  the  thought  is  to  me  that  never  again  in  joy 
or  grief  shall  I  be  alone! " 

For  a  second  she  feels  oddly  unresponsive;  then 
remembering,  presses  his  hand. 

"  You  have  accounted  for  the  morning,"  she 
says,  smiling;  "  but  what  about  the  afternoon?  " 

"  It  has  been  a  day  of  contretemps! "  he  answers 
with  a  recurrence  of  exasperation.  "  I  was  on  rny 
way  to  you,  having  only  just  escaped  the  clutches 
of  the  printer's  devil  from  Bradling,  who  came  over 
about  the  proofs  of  my  Advent  sermons.  You 
know  I  have  been  asked  to  publish  them?  " 

"  I  did  not  know  it." 

Her  eye  shines.    How  gratifying! 

"  I  was  just  getting  on  my  bicycle  when  Jim 
and  his  *  missus  *  drove  up,  and  I  had  to  go  with 
them  to  show  her  the  church,  and  then  nothing 
would  serve  her  but  she  must  try  the  organ — I 
should  think  a  banjo  would  be  nearer  her  mark — 
and  I  had  to  blow  for  her." 

"What  a  hard  fate!" 


152  FOES  IN   LAW 

He  detects  a  little  point  of  jealousy  in  the  good- 
humoured  irony  of  her  phrase. 

"  It  was  to  me.  And  by  the  time  she  had  played 
over  every  chant  and  voluntary  she  could  lay  her 
hands  on — a  fine  hash  she  made  of  them! — it  was 
too  late." 

There  is  such  an  unaffected  weariness  and  impa- 
tience in  his  tone,  and  the  action  that  he  fits  to  his 
explanation  is  so  tender  and  suitable,  that  the 
weight  which  has  been  on  it  all  day  lifts  partially — 
she  herself  could  not  say  why  it  does  not  entirely 
— from  her  heart. 

"  I  was  disappointed,"  she  says;  then,  feeling  that 
the  expression  is  too  tame  for  the  situation,  "  That 
goes  without  saying;  but  the  more  so  because  I 
cannot  bear  that  there  should  be  a  delay  in  telling 
Jim.  He  would  probably  not  make  any  difficulties 
now." 

There  is  a  rather  mournful  emphasis  on  the  ad- 
verb, and  its  effect  upon  Chevening  is  not  as  exhil- 
arating as  might  have  been  expected. 

"  He  would  say  to  me,  '  May  I  ask  how  you  pro- 
pose to  support  my  sister?  '  " 

"  And  you  would  answer,  '  She  is  only  too  proud 
and  pleased  to  support  me.'  " 

The  girl  accompanies  this  pretty  presentation  to 
him  of  her  loaves  and  fishes  with  a  smile  of  real 
pleasure,  but  he  does  not  seem  to  hear. 

"  How  can  I  make  him  understand  that  I  have 
a  future?  I  know  it" — ^with  a  raised  elation  of 
voice,  and  flashing,  confident  eyes — "  since  last 
night,  I  know  it — know  that  I  shall  come  to  the 
front,  that  I  shall  make  myself  felt;  but  by  what 
method  can  I  convey  that  to  him?    Nothing  short 


FOES   IN    LAW  153 

of  the  accomplished  fact  will  ever  reach  dear  old 
Jim." 

The  slight  and  unintended  contempt  oi  the  tone 
used  piques  the  really  affectionate  sister. 

"  We  are  cut  out  of  the  same  block,  he  and  I. 
Marie  said  that  I  am  *  poor  old  Jim  in  petticoats.* 
She  applied  it  to  the  outside,  but  it  is  quite  as  true 
of  the  inside." 

"  To  the  outside!  "  cries  he,  scanning  the  fair  face 
so  close  to  his  with  passionate  derision.  **  Love  in 
her  case  must  indeed  be  blind!  " 

Once  again  the  reassuring  thrill  at  his  contact — 
reassuring  as  to  this  being  Love  indeed — sends  its 
tremulous  quiver  over  her.    It  silences  her. 

"  Why  should  you  ask  his  leave?  "  asks  Randal, 
presently,  in  a  key  that  has  less  of  tenderness  than 
of  pride  and  revolt  in  it;  "  he  did  not  ask  yours." 

The  parallel  jars  upon  her. 


CHAPTER  XII 

The  early  days  of  a  betrothal  are  generally  sup- 
posed to  have  less  of  alloy  in  their  gold  than  is 
to  be  found  in  any  of  the  other  occasions  where 
man's  and  woman's  destiny  meets.  It  is  said  that 
the  two  sure  ways  of  being  spoken  well  of  are  to 
be  engaged  to  be  married  and  to  die.  In  both  cases 
only  your  virtues  emerge  like  mountain-tops  from 
the  sea  of  kindness  that  washes  over  you. 

And  if  your  situation  produces  this  optimistic 
view  among  your  mere  acquaintances,  or  the 
friends  who  have  mastered  all  your  weak  points, 
what  must  it  do  in  the  case  of  the  him  or  the  her 
to  whom  you  have  never  shown  any  but  your  sun- 
kissed  side?  And  though  it  is  a  rule  to  which,  as 
every  one  knows,  there  is  no  exception,  that  an 
intimate  knowledge  of  any  human  creature  must 
reveal  some  unexpected  frailty,  some  little  unhand- 
someness  at  best,  yet  each  freshly  troth-plighted 
pair  of  lovers  believes  that  the  other  will  always 
keep  up  to  the  same  impossible  level  of  beauty, 
amiability,  and  tenderness  upon  which  Love's  first 
valuation  had  set  them. 

When  the  inevitable  discovery  comes,  it  may 
be  of  nothing  worse  than  that  he  can't  keep  awake 
while  she  is  reading  aloud  to  him,  or  that  she  has 
some  pet  stinginesses  with  which  he  has  no  sym- 
pathy, the  disappointment  is  as  great  as  would 

154 


FOES  IN   LAW  155 

Adam's  have  been  if  he  had  discovered  in  his  flaw- 
less Eve  a  hair-lip  or  club-foot. 

Lettice's  is  not  the  same  case  as  that  of  those 
persons  who  fall  into  each  other's  arms  out  of  the 
blue,  knowing  nothing  of  one  another's  antece- 
dents. She  would  have  said  that  in  Chevening's 
character  there  was  nothing  left  for  her  to  learn. 
The  last  year  of  intimacy  has  taught  her  not  only 
the  keenness  of  his  longings  to  spend  the  gifts  of 
which  he  can't  but  be  conscious  in  leaving  the 
world  a  higher  and  better  place  than  he  found  it, 
but  also  the  shortness  of  his  temper  when  his  lofty 
aspirations  have  their  Pegasus  wings  clipped  by  the 
vicar,  and  are  set  to  the  obscure  daily  plough  of 
house-to-house  visiting.  She  has,  with  thrilled 
ears,  heard  him;  has  seen  him,  white  with  emotion, 
thrust  home  into  his  hearers  the  sword  of  his  fiery 
warning  against  the  sins  of  the  flesh.  Once  or 
twice  it  has  struck  her  that  there  is  a  note  of  per- 
sonal suffering  in  the  burning  words  which  picture 
that  warfare.  She  has  listened  to  his  phiHppics 
against  luxury;  his  scorn  of  cotton-wool-wrapped 
bodies  and  naked  souls;  his  noble  pictures  of  the 
severe  high  bliss  of  renunciation  and  abstinence. 
But  she  has  also  known  how  thoroughly  upset  he 
has  been  by  some  little  extra  nastiness  in  the  food 
provided  by  his  landlady,  and  how  much  truth 
there  is  in  the  accusation,  gently,  regretfully,  and 
only  occasionally,  brought  against  him  by  the  vicar 
of  neglecting  the  schools. 

He  has  always  told  her  that  his  nature  is  not  an 
ascetic  one,  has  implied  that  the  meshes  of  sense 
hold  him  with  a  tenacity  superior  to  that  with 
which  they  grip  others,  and  she  has  acquiesced  in 


156  FOES   IN   LAW 

silent  sympathy  with  the  stress  of  his  fight,  never 
for  a  moment  doubting  the  vigorous  reality  of  his 
resistance,  nor  his  ultimate  victory  in  the  war. 

She  could  not  herself  tell  for  how  much  the  con- 
viction that  his  future  lies  in  her  hands,  to  be  made 
or  unmade  by  his  love  for  her,  has  counted  in  her 
abandonment  of  herself  to  him.  There  are  chas- 
tised pure  souls  whom  a  balked  or  betrayed  devo- 
tion to  some  human  object  lifts  to  a  higher  plane 
of  holiness  and  strenuous  labour  for  God  and  man, 
to  whom  the  extinction  of  the  earthly  light  serves 
only  to  turn  the  heavenly  from  a  glimmer  into  a 
blaze;  but  to  this  saintly  fellowship  Lettice  has  long 
known  that  her  Randal  does  not  belong. 

Yet  with  all  this  preparation  of  foreknowledge 
there  is  surprise,  tinged  with  vague  dread,  in  the 
uneasy  compound  of  feelings  that  she  takes  to  bed 
with  her  on  this  first  night  of  her  engagement.  His 
ambition  is  a  familiar  thing  to  her,  sympathized 
with  and  encouraged  through  many  a  warm  twilit 
hour,  of  champing  revolt  on  his  part  against  the 
narrowness  of  his  limitations,  the  lack  of  a  larger 
air  in  which  to  set  free  the  message  his  labouring 
soul  has  to  tell  the  world.  She  has  rejoiced  with 
him  over  each  little  indication  that  slowly  but 
surely  he  is  beginning  to  be  heard  of  beyond  the 
goose-haunted  village  green;  has  upborne  him  in 
hours  of  desperation,  when  he  has  tramped  up  and 
down  the  room,  crying  in  heart-wrung  accents, 
"  Am  I  going  to  my  grave  without  having  had  any 
audience  but  Miss  Smith,  Miss  Butler,  and  Miss 
Lamotte?  " 

Something  in  the  tone  in  which  he  utters  this 
arraignment  of  providence  always  makes  the  parrot 


FOES   IN   LAW  157 

scream,  and  the  scolding  and  covering  the  too 
sensitive  bird  with  a  snatched-up  bit  of  brocade 
has  more  than  once  brought  a  welcome  relaxation 
of  tension  to  the  suffering  apostle  and  his  confi- 
dant. But  the  sympathy  and  encouragement  have 
always  been  poured  forth  so  liberally  in  the  ardent 
faith  that  there  is  a  message,  and  that  it  is  to  deliver 
it  that  expansion  and  elevation  are  so  passionately 
craved. 

Of  the  message  there  has  to-day  been  little  trace, 
and  there  has  been  a  good  deal  of  frank  worldliness 
in  the  triumph  of  the  lover's  tone  when  announcing 
the  opening  he  sees  ahead  of  him  in  the  invitation 
to  preach  at  Swyndford.  That  the  vicar  should  be 
kicked  into  the  corner,  and  that  a  duchess  and 
fallen  mothers  should  be  the  first  step  in  the  ladder 
that  leads  up  to  light,  is  no  part  of  Miss  Trent's 
programme. 

His  disinclination  to  tell  Jim  of  their  engagement 
has  a  possibly  noble  side,  upon  which  she  tries 
through  the  watches  of  the  night  to  keep  her  eyes 
fixed.  He  is  too  proud  to  ask  for  her  as  a  beggar; 
he  would  fain  come  with  something  in  his  hand, 
some  opening  prospect  or  beckoning  hope,  and 
this  most  honourable  desire  perfectly  explains  the 
apparently  eager  selfishness  of  his  snatch  at  a 
chance  of  distinction.  Yet  she  passes  a  wretched 
night,  distressed  by  fears  and  misgivings. 

Is  his  love  for  her,  after  all,  going  to  materialize 
instead  of  spiritualizing  him?  For  her  sake  is  he 
going  to  snatch  at  the  loaves  and  fishes  which  of 
himself  he  would  have  contemptuously  passed  by? 

''  Give  me  a  little  respite,"  he  has  said,  just  at 
ihe  end.    "  Our  secret  will  never  be  the  same  thing 


158  FOES   IN   LAW 

after  it  has  been  handled  and  pawed  and  jawed 
over,  and  then  I  will  go  to  Jim  with  my  mendicant's 
bowl  and  ask  him  to  put  you  into  it.  We  both 
know  what  his  answer  will  be,  and  he  will  be  quite 
right.  I  have  nothing,  I  am  nothing;  and  it  would 
be  waste  of  breath  to  say  to  him  as  I  say  to  you  " 
— his  stature  seems  to  increase  by  a  full  inch  as  he 
disdainfully  utters  the  words — "  I  shall  not  always 
be  curate  of  Trent." 

It  is  with  a  heart  not  agitated  by  the  bounding 
motion  appropriate  to  her  situation  that  next 
morning,  about  eleven  o'clock,  Lettice  knocks  at 
the  door  of  her  sister-in-law's  dressing-room. 

"  May  I  come  in?  " 

"  Who  is  If    But  come  in,  whoever  you  are." 

Upon  this  reckless  permission,  whose  full  audac- 
ity is  not  realized  until  the  inchoate  state  of  Mrs. 
Trent's  toilet  is  revealed,  Lettice  enters. 

Marie's  dressing  has  apparently  been  arrested 
by  two  different  and  on  the  surface  discrepant  oc- 
cupations, evidenced  by  the  lotion-bottle  from 
which  she  is  bathing  Lulu's  eyes,  and  the  half-writ- 
ten letter  on  the  blotting-pad  upon  her  knee.  The 
extreme  lengthiness  of  her  toilette  operations  is 
due  not  to  any  excessive  care  in  decorating  herself, 
but  to  the  fact  that  at  every  stage  of  them  they  are 
checked  by  the  impulse — instantly  obeyed — to- 
wards some  other  and  more  interesting  employ- 
ment. Sometimes  it  is  to  clean  a  bird-cage,  some- 
times to  try  a  new  song  on  the  banjo,  sometimes 
to  run  over  the  last  items  of  stage  news  in  a  theatri- 
cal paper;  but  there  is  always  something,  and  that 
something  always  makes  her  late. 

She  is  never  in  the  least  repentant  or  regretful 


FOES  IN   LAW  159 

that  it  IS  so.  Although  she  is  ever  prepared  for 
disapproval  in  her  sister-in-law,  she  would  be  quite 
unable  to  understand  the  distaste  and  indignation 
with  which  her  small  white  fur-and-satin-wrapped 
figure  and  the  sea  of  fine  wavy  hair  billowing  liber- 
ally about  her  tiny  face  are  regarded  by  her  visitor. 

Lettice's  own  toilet  is  always  carried  out  with  the 
straight  directness  with  which  she  attacks  all  the 
problems  of  life,  with  which,  were  she  a  man  and  a 
soldier,  she  would  go  up  a  breach. 

"  I  am  too  early,"  she  says,  with  an  austere 
glance  at  the  tall  clock  on  the  landing,  where  she  is 
still  standing.    "  I  see  that  you  are  not  ready." 

"  I  am  as  ready  as  I  shall  be  for  some  time  to 
come,"  replies  Marie,  brazenly;  "but  ready  for 
what?  " 

"  You  forget, perhaps" — with  alarming  civility — 
"  that  I  asked  you  to  let  me  go  over  the  accounts  of 
the  societies,  of  which  you  will  now  have  the  man- 
agement, before  I  give  them  up  into  your  hands." 

The  hands  mentioned  fly  up  to  the  owner's  face 
and  cover  it,  with  the  pettish  gesture  of  a  child 
shirking  physic,  then  drop  down  again. 

"  Why  should  I  have  the  management  of  them?  " 

"  Surely  it  is  your  place." 

"  I  never  do  anything  because  it  is  my  place." 

"Oh!" 

"  Why  should  you  give  them  up?  You  are  here, 
you  will  be  here — till  you  marry."  If  there  is  no 
great  exhilaration  in  the  voice  that  conveys  this 
statement  of  fact,  there  is  undoubtedly  a  touch  of 
impudence  in  the  rider  added  to  it.  "  And  perhaps 
even  then  you  may  not  be  too  far  off  to  take  charge 
of  them,  and  of  us." - 


i6o  FOES  IN   LAW 

It  is  too  much.  The  overheard  "  Policeman  X  '* 
and  Jim's  laugh  at  it  recur  stingingly  to  a  hearer 
already  overset  by  the  impertinent  bad  taste  of 
Marie's  implication.  She  draws  the  door  towards 
her  in  order  to  shut  it  on  the  outside,  but  the  other 
calls  her  back. 

"  Do  not  go.  Let  us  have  it  out  now.  We  are 
bound  to  have  it  out  some  time." 

Lettice  returns  with  dignified  reluctance.  ''  I  do 
not  understand  what  you  mean." 

"  Oh,  you  soon  will,"  retorts  Marie,  with  her 
short,  high  laugh.  "  I  mean  that  I  am  never  going 
to  have  anything  to  say  to  your  societies  and 
things." 

The  dart  is  launched  with  a  resolution  that  shows 
how  entirely  in  earnest  the  small  hand  that  hurls 
it  is. 

"  Have  you  told  Jim  so?  " 

"  Jim  will  be  delighted.  I  mean,  he  will  not  care 
twopence  one  way  or  the  other." 

She  watches  for  a  moment  with  subdued  glee  the 
discomfited  philanthropist  before  her;  then — for 
her — grows  grave. 

"  Whatever  you  began,  I  should  be  sure  to  make 
a  mess  of,  and  vice  versa.  If  I  am  let  alone  I  shall 
do  very  well.  I  have  my  own  little  methods.  I 
see  that  I  am  going  to  get  on  very  well  with  every- 
body. I  do  not  in  the  least  expect  you  to  believe 
it,  but  wherever  I  have  lived  hitherto  I  have  always 
been  rather  liked." 

There  is  a  sort  of  wistfulness  underlying  the  bel- 
ligerence of  her  tone,  and  Lettice  is  not  sure  that 
the  nether  lip  of  the  Cupid's-bow  mouth  does  not 
twitch  a  little.    She  feels  a  momentary  softening; 


FOES   IN    LAW  i6i 

but  it  disappears  in  a  few  seconds  before  the  flip- 
pant liveliness  of  Marie's  next  speech.  To  an  un- 
prejudiced spectator  it  might  seem  to  be  pride's 
revolt  against  showing  emotion  before  one  so 
hostile. 

"  Your  Mothers'  Unions,  and  your  Home  Mis- 
sions, and  your  Guilds  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  I 
cannot  away  with  them,  so  there's  an  end  on't!'* 
she  cries,  waving  her  red  flag,  and  declaiming 
theatrically. 

"  Then  I  need  not  trouble  you  any  more." 

The  motion  to  withdraw  is  repeated,  but  is  again 
arrested. 

"  No,  stay;  I  have  not  half  done.  We  have  not 
nearly  thrashed  it  out  yet." 

In  her  excitement  she  has  sprung  out  of  the  arm- 
chair in  which,  with  her  usual  shiveriness,  she  has 
been  sitting  nearly  on  the  fire,  rolling  her  writing- 
pad  into  the  fender,  and  advancing  towards  her 
sister-in-law  gesticulating. 

"  You  love  all  this  display  and  pomp!  "  she  cries, 
waving  vaguely  towards  the  inside  luxury  and  the 
outside  silent  stateliness. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  call  display  and  pomp; 
it  is  a  very  ordinary  country  house." 

There  is  a  proud  humility  in  the  tone  which  re- 
veals that  this  is  not  her  real  opinion. 

"  Well,  whatever  it  is,  you  love  it;  you  love  the 
servants  tumbling  over  each  other,  and  the  horrible 
way  that  everything  goes  by  clockwork.  It  is  a 
great  blow  to  you  to  give  it  up — not  to  boss  the 
show  any  longer." 

"  I  can't  see  what  object  is  gained  by  telling  me 
this." 


i62  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  Cannot  you?  Well,  there  is  one.  I  want  to 
say  once  for  all,  Why  do  you  give  it  up?  " 

"  Why  do  I  give  it  up?  "  replies  Lettice,  unbut- 
toning her  displeased  blue  eyes  in  unfeigned  aston- 
ishment. "  Surely  I  need  not  answer  that  ques- 
tion! " 

"  Why  do  you  give  it  up?  "  repeats  Marie,  with 
flaming  urgency.  "  Why  should  not  you  go  on 
managing  the  household,  and  telling  everybody 
their  duty,  and  sitting  at  the  head  of  the  table,  as 
you  have  always  done?  " 

Then,  as  her  hearer  makes  no  answer  beyond  a 
look  of  scorn,  she  gallops  on. 

"  If  you  think  I  should  mind  or  be  jealous,  you 
are  very  much  mistaken;  I  should  be  only  too 
thankful.  I  hate  and  detest  the  whole  thing.  It  is 
only  for  Jim's  sake  that  I  put  up  with  it  at  all." 

For  once  her  implication  of  what  she  has  sacri- 
ficed in  becoming  Mrs.  Trent  is  not  made  with  its 
usual  purpose  of  "drawing"  Miss  Trent;  but 
nevertheless  it  has  that  efifect. 

"  I  am  afraid  it  is  rather  late  to  think  of  that 
now." 

"  Oh  no,  it  is  not.  I  shall  get  on  very  well  if  I 
am  allowed  to  go  my  own  way.  In  time,  I  dare 
say,  I  shall  grow  to  admire  that  little  path  mean- 
dering across  the  dismal  white  sheet " — glancing 
out  with  a  groan  at  the  park — "  shall  be  able  to 
see  those  poor  shivering  deer  without  longing  to 
invite  them  in  to  get  warm!  It  is  the  first  time  I 
have  wintered  in  England  since  I  was  ten,  and  oh, 
I  wish  I  could  think  it  would  be  the  last!  " 

She  has  brought  back  her  eyes  from  the  outer 
world,  and  turned  them  upon  her  sister-in-law,  with 


FOES   IN   LAW  163 

what  might  be  a  half  appeal  in  them,  though  her 
last  speech  seems  uttered  more  as  a  relief  to  herself 
than  with  any  expectation  of  sympathy.  She 
pauses  a  moment,  her  little  restless  hands  pulling 
at  the  ends  of  the  rose-coloured  sash  of  her  dress- 
ing-gown, then  begins  again. 

"  I  loathe  punctuality  and  order,  and  all  the  odi- 
ous little  virtues  that  go  to  make  up  a  good  mis- 
tress of  a  house.  I  like  to  eat  when  I  am  hungry; 
not  when  that  horrible,  inexorable  gong  commands 
me  to  summon  up  an  appetite.  We  had  a  gong  at 
Wimbledon,  but,  dear  old  thing!  " — lapsing  into 
levity — '*  it  never  meant  anything  at  all." 

Lettice  does  not  try  to  laugh  at  the  little  joke, 
nor  does  Marie  expect  it  of  her,  having  thus  early 
made  the  hopeless  discovery — hopeless  with  a  view 
to  possible  friendship — that  the  same  things  never 
amuse  them. 

The  bride  opens  her  floridly  monogrammed 
cigarette-case,  which  always  jars  upon  Lettice^s 
taste,  as  does  the  lighting  up  and  puffing  that 
follows. 

"  So  that  is  settled,"  she  says,  with  a  sigh  of  re- 
lief, sinking  again  into  her  chair,  picking  up  the 
writing-pad  from  the  fender,  and  recapturing  Lulu 
and  the  lotion-bottle.  "  We  will  both  enjoy  our- 
selves in  our  own  way;  you  shall  have  the  birch-rod 
and  the  sceptre,  and  the  Friendly  Girls,  and  all  the 
rest  of  it;  and  I  will  have  Jim  and  Lulu  " — lifting 
the  old  dog's  grizzled  muzzle  and  kissing  it — "  and 
we  will  all  be  as  late  and  idle  and  foolish  as  we 
like!" 

"  Jim  never  was  late,  or  idle,  or  foolish,"  retorts 
Lettice,  unwisely  rising  to  this  galling  fly. 


i64  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  Oh,  wasn't  he?  "  replies  Marie,  with  an  exaspe- 
rating air  of  interest  and  surprise.  "  Then  it  is 
quite  time  that  he  began." 

Mrs.  Trent  is  as  good  as  her  word,  and  the  days 
and  weeks  that  go  by  fully  prove  it. 

The  thought  of  how  neglected  and  mismanaged 
all  her  local  philanthropies,  now  rolling  on  the 
oiled  wheels  of  long  habit  and  efficient  guidance, 
would  be,  when  fallen  into  the  hands  of  her  broth- 
er's despised  wife,  has  been  one  of  the  bitterest  of 
the  grudges  nursed  by  Lettice  against  the  inter- 
loper. But  that  ground  is  now  knocked  from  un- 
der her  feet.  At  first  she  has  not  believed  in 
Marie's  renunciation,  and  it  has  required  the  em- 
phatic confirmation  of  Jim  to  persuade  her  of  its 
sincerity. 

''  Marie  has  told  you,"  he  begins  one  morning 
at  the  tete-d-tete  breakfast,  which  is  now  their  chief 
opportunity  for  communicating  with  each  other, 
"  that  she  does  not  wish  to  interfere  with  you  in 
any  way." 

Lettice  looks  up  from  the  mess  she  is  com- 
pounding for  the  birds  with  as  liberal  a  hand  as  if 
their  fairy  godmother — the  thaw  had  not  blessed 
them  with  pierceable  clods  and  reachable  worms. 
She  always  feels  a  fear  when  with  Jim  now,  from 
the  consciousness  of  what  she  is  hiding  from  him; 
and  the  ill-at-ease  look  that  his  face  always  now 
takes  when  mentioning  his  wife  to  her,  contrasted 
with  the  naif  freedom  and  expansiveness  of  his 
early  ebullitions,  vexes  her  to  the  heart.  He  an- 
swers her  dumb  inquiry. 

"  She  wants  you  to  understand  that  she  will  not 
tamper  with  any  of  the  charities  that  you  have  set 


FOES   IN   LAW  i6s 

going  in  the  parish;  she  is  sure  that  you  manage 
them  so  much  better  than  she  would." 

"Did  she  say  so?" 

"  I  am  not  much  given  to  romancing,"  replies 
her  brother,  bluntly.  "  I  should  not  have  said  so 
if  she  had  not." 

"  It  is  probably  true,"  rejoins  Lettice,  "  that  I 
do,  and  I  should  have  been  only  too  glad  to  help 
her  with  all  my  experience;  but  do  you  think  that 
it  can  be  quite  right — quite  doing  her  duty — to 
shift  the  whole  responsibility  on  to  some  one  else's 
shoulders?  " 

Mr.  Trent  is  essentially  a  still  man,  yet  there  is 
fidgetiness  in  the  way  in  which  he  balances  a  knife 
between  his  finger  and  thumb  as  he  answers — 

"  I  think  that  I  should  be  glad  if  she  did  not  hear 
quite  so  much  about  her  *  duty '  just  yet." 

Miss  Trent  has  been  so  little  used  to  being 
snubbed  by  her  brother,  that  her  cheek  burns  to 
smarting  under  the  reproof,  but  she  tries  to  speak 
moderately. 

"  It  is  not  that  I  grudge  the  trouble;  you  know 
I  have  always  loved  the  sort  of  work.  But  even 
waiving  that  question,  do  you  know  what  else  she 
suggested?  "  The  girl  makes  a  dramatic  pause, 
and  opens  her  eyes  rather  widely.  "  She  sug- 
gested that  I  should  manage  the  household,  and 
sit  at  the  head  of  the  table.  Is  that  also  your 
wish?  " — with  an  accent  of  almost  compassionate 
incredulity. 

Mr.  Trent  is  resorting  to  what  of  late  has  been 
his  favourite  method  of  defence  against  his  sister, 
and  a  very  little  space  now  parts  him  from  the  fine 


i66  FOES  IN   LAW 

old  mahogany  door;  but  her  final  question  makes 
him  turn. 

"  Let  it  be  understood,  once  for  all,"  he  says 
firmly,  and  not  without  dignity,  "  that  I  wish  my 
wife  to  have  whatever  can  make  this  place  and  its 
ways  less  irksome  and  disagreeable  to  her.  She 
has  sacrificed  so  much  in  marrying  me — almost 
everything  in  the  world  that  she  cared  for — that 
the  least  I  can  do  is  to  try  and  make  her  life  as 
tolerable  to  her  as  I  can." 

He  is  gone,  his  sister  staring,  moonstruck,  after 
him.  It  is  the  longest  speech  she  has  ever  heard 
him  make,  and  the  fullest  confession  of  his 
besotment. 

Later,  she  comes  across  him  again  at  the  stables, 
where  she  has  gone  to  give  her  pony  its  morning 
carrot;  and  it  is  with  a  pang  that  she  sees  his  art- 
less attempt  to  escape  unseen  into  the  harness- 
room. 

"  Do  not  run  away,"  she  says,  trying  to  smile;  "  I 
am  not  going  to  say  anything  disagreeable." 

He  halts,  only  partially  reassured. 

"  You  left  me  in  such  a  hurry  this  morning,  that 
you  did  not  give  me  time  to  explain." 

"  I  have  not  much  opinion  of  explanations." 

She  sees  that  his  ramparts  are  still  bristling  with 
guns,  but  advances,  waving  a  white  flag. 

"  The  reason  why  I  was  anxious  for  Marie  to 
take  her  proper  place  is  that,  of  course,  I  shall  not 
long  be  here." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  am  only  here  as  a  visitor;  I  am 
naturally  no  longer  going  to  live  here." 

"  Where  are  you  going  to  live?  " 


FOES   IN   LAW  167 

She  hesitates,  a  momentary  flush  of  resentment 
against  her  betrothed  for  the  equivocal  position  in 
which  his  request  for  secrecy  has  put  her  darting 
through  her  mind. 

"  There  are  plenty  of  places,"  she  answers 
lamely. 

His  own  slow,  good-humoured  smile  replaces 
the  dogged  look  of  self-defence  on  Jim's  face. 

"  Do  not  be  an  ass,  old  girl!  "  he  says,  taking 
the  cudgel  out  of  his  simple  Saxon  phrase  by  ac- 
companying it  with  a  friendly  pat  on  the  shoulder, 
"  and  do  not  talk  tommy-rot.  Of  course,  you  will 
live  here;  and  of  course  we  shall  all  get  on  like — 
like  smoke,  if  only  you  will  remember  that  the  best 
text  in  all  the  Bible  is  *  Live  and  let  live.*  " 

There  is  a  slight  choke  in  the  laugh  with  which 
she  assures  him  that  no  such  text  exists,  and  Miss 
Kirstie  here  comes  to  the  rescue  of  a  difficult  situa- 
tion by  squeezing  herself  inside  a  loose  box,  and 
trying  the  taste  of  the  bay  cob*s  heels.  He  retorts 
by  lashing  out  at  the  place  where  her  brains  ought 
to  be;  and  in  delivering  and  sending  her  off, 
smacked  and  sulky,  with  her  tail  well  down,  brother 
and  sister  seal  and  cement  their  peace. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"  Live  and  let  live."  It  sounds  the  simplest,  facilest, 
slip-me-down-easy  kind  of  injunction  that  could 
be  laid  upon  man  or  woman.  Experience  teaches 
that  no  harder  rule  of  conduct  has  ever  been  pre- 
scribed. To  "live**  is  difificult;  to  "let  live"  is, 
to  many  natures,  nearly  impossible.  It  is  so  hard 
to  believe  that  those  who  differ  from  us  radically 
in  aim,  method,  and  conduct  9f  life  owe  their  un- 
likeness  less  to  the  wilful  wrong-headedness  and 
inherent  turpitude  with  which  we  feel  inclined  to 
credit  them,  than  to  a  structural  difference  in  mind 
or  constitution.  To  see  ourselves  as  others  see  us 
is  a  great  gift.  To  see  others  as  they  see  them- 
selves is  perhaps  a  greater,  and  it  must  have  struck 
most  of  us  now  and  then  that  domestic  life  might 
run  on  smoother  wheels  if  we  were  able  to  see  the 
springs  and  pulleys  of  the  human  clocks  that  tick 
beside  us,  instead  of  only  their  expressionless  dial- 
plates. 

It  is  a  physical  impossibility  to  get  into  any  one 
else's  bodily  skin.  Is  it  easier  to  do  so  in  the  case 
of  his  or  her  mental  and  moral  one?  It  is  not  the 
abysmal  deeps  of  differences  in  faith  or  principle 
that  make  the  most  hopeless  divisions  between 
members  of  the  same  household.  These  may  be 
silently  respected,  and  cause  no  great  friction  in 
detail.    But  how  can  one  who  rises  with  the  lark 

i68 


FOES   IN   LAW  169 

and  lies  down  with  the  lamb  live  in  peace  and 
amity  with  another  who  would  fain  lie  down  when 
the  lark  rises,  and  rise  when  the  lamb  retires?  How 
can  she,  every  shining  hair  on  whose  sleek  head 
has  its  allotted  place,  really  foregather  with  her 
whose  locks  are  as  gaily  free  from  any  controlling 
law  as  their  mistress,  whom  not  all  the  efforts  of 
an  active,  conscientious  maid  can  keep  untorn, 
unchiffonee,  straight? 

Marie  never  defends  or  apologizes  for  her  frail- 
ties, but  she  sometimes  gives  a  slight  careless  ex- 
planation of  them. 

"  I  have  never  been  used  to  going  to  bed,"  she 
says.  "  When  dear  mother  died,  father  used  to  like 
us  to  sit  up  with  him,  to  make  him  feel  less  lonely; 
and  afterwards,  there  never  was  enough  time  in  the 
day  for  all  the  things  one  wanted  to  do." 

She  gave  a  little  sigh  to  the  memory  of  the  past 
delightful  scurry.  The  explanation  is  addressed  to 
her  husband,  but  it  is  her  sister-in-law  who 
responds. 

"  That  was  not  much  to  be  wondered  at  if  you 
never  got  up  till  twelve." 

Miss  Trent  has  tried  to  make  her  rebuke  sound 
gentle;  but  through  the  mildness  of  the  key  the 
policeman's  rattle  is  plainly  audible.  It  may  be 
fancy  that  Marie's  magnificent  left  eye  closes  in  an 
infinitesimal  wink  at  Jim,  and  it  also  may  not. 

Whatever  else  Mrs.  Trent  is,  she  is  at  least  a 
woman  of  her  word.  She  is  never  in  time  for  din- 
ner, nor  does  she  ever  manifest  the  slightest  inter- 
est, or  attempt  the  smallest  interference  in  Lettice's 
management  of  her  clubs,  unions,  and  guilds.  The 
question  of  the  headship  of  the  dinner-table  remains 


176  FOES  IN   LAW 

in  abeyance.  Marie  has  forsaken  it,  on  the  double 
plea  of  liking  to  have  her  back  to  the  fire  and  to 
be  near  Jim;  and  Lettice,  naturally  and  justly, 
refuses  to  resume  it. 

Since  it  is  the  wish  of  the  mistress  that  no  atten- 
tion shall  be  paid  to  her  vagaries,  the  mechanism 
of  the  house  remains  unchanged.  The  bells  and 
gongo  maintain  the  iron  exactitude  of  their  sum- 
mons, and  the  little  freakish  refreshments  at  odd 
hours,  which  are  the  bride's  beau  ideal  of  cuisine, 
do  not  materially  add  to  the  labours  of  the  foot- 
man who  carries  them  to  the  door  of  her  boudoir 
or  the  lady's-maid  who  takes  them  in.  Strange  to 
say,  even  if  some  unaccountable  quirk  of  their  new 
lady  does  drive  them  from  their  routine,  and  put 
them  to  extra  trouble,  they  do  not  seem  to  mind 
it. 

Mrs.  Trent  has  that  mysterious  gift  which  always 
does,  and  always  will,  defy  analysis  or  definition — 
"  a  way  with  her."  The  virtue  of  it  does  not  lie 
in  her  beauty — many  Venuses  have  lacked  it — nor 
in  her  wisdom  or  her  goodness.  In  both  these 
qualities  her  sister-in-law,  mournfully  reflecting 
over  the  problem,  pronounces  her  deplorably  de- 
ficient. Can  it  lie  in  that  unhigh-bred,  universal 
familiarity  of  hers,  that  hail-fellow-well-metness 
with  all  creation,  which  yet,  as  her  critic  must 
grudgingly  own,  does  not  seem  to  provoke  answer- 
ing liberties?  Can  it  reside  in  her  taste  for  em- 
piric remedies?  for  she  dearly  loves  physicking. 

It  is  some  while  before  Lettice  will  admit  to  her- 
self the  patent  fact  how  greatly  the  gardener's 
broken-legged  boy  and  the  coachman's  quinsied 
wife  prefer  Marie's  quack  medicines,  seasoned  with 


FOES   IN   LAW  171 

bad  jokes,  and  her  visits,  to  her  own  and  the  doc- 
tor's orthodox  treatment  and  grave  benevolence. 

Marie  is  not  in  the  least  benevolent;  she  would 
tell  you  so  herself.  It  would  not  express  the  case 
rightly  to  say  that  she  is  "  kind  "  to  the  people 
about  her.  She  is  only,  as  it  were,  for  her  own 
pleasure,  deeply,  deeply  interested  in  them  in  pill- 
ing and  plastering  and  pulling  their  confidences  out 
of  them  by  direct  question  and  lively  partaking. 

The  ulcer  on  little  Sidney  Plant's  head,  which 
Lettice,  duty-driven,  surveys  with  inward  nausea, 
provokes  in  Marie  only  an  acute  desire  to  treat  it 
personally  after  her  own  method;  and  her  small 
forefinger  travels  round  the  repulsive  area  of  pain 
with  unaffected  enjoyment  in  ascertaining  how 
near  her  nice  touch  can  go  without  hurting  the 
patient. 

"  I  am  a  sawbones  spoilt!  *'  she  says,  looking  up 
radiantly  at  Jim,  who  has  run  her  to  earth.  "Why" 
— plaintively — "  do  not  you  set  up  some  ailment, 
if  it  were  only  a  boilf  I  should  love  to  treat  you 
for  it." 

He  answers  her  by  a  laugh  that  has  a  touch  of 
wonder  in  it. 

"  I  always  doctored  the  children,"  she  goes  on, 
sitting  back  on  her  heels — she  is  kneeling  by  the 
child's  bed,  and  her  great  eyes  growing  wistful,  as 
they  do  when  her  own  people  are  mentioned — 
"  and  they  do  me  credit,  don't  they?  " 

Mrs.  Trent  has  no  theories  as  to  the  rights  to 
equality  of  the  race,  her  stock-in-trad-e  in  that  com- 
modity being  mV,  but  she  never  can  remember  to 
think  of  any  difference  in  the  social  plane,  whether 
an  inch  hif^her  or  a  foot  lower  of  the  person  she 


172  FOES   IN   LAW 

is  talking  to.  Whether  this  be  the  master-key  she 
uses  or  some  other,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  in 
several  cases,  she  slips  into  the  secret  chamber  of 
hearts  at  whose  front  door  Lettice  has  been  deco- 
rously ringing  for  years. 

"  How  did  you  get  the  Growcotts  to  tell  you 
about  Annie?  "  Miss  Trent  asks  one  day,  when 
her  grudging  wonder  at  conspicuous  success  of 
her  sister-in-law's  has  overcome  her  dislike  to  dis- 
cussing her  methods. 

"  I  asked  them." 

"  Asked  them!  Why,  nobody  has  ever  dared  ap- 
proach the  subject!  " 

"  Well,  there  is  no  subject  I  daren't  approach, 
so  I  did.  I  told  them  I  did  not  think  a  pin  the 
worse  of  her." 

"  You  did  not!  You  couldn't!  It  was  the  most 
aggravated  case  of  immorality  and  deceit  that  has 
ever  happened  in  the  parish!  " 

"  I  told  them  I  felt  certain  I  should  have  done 
the  same  myself  if  I  had  been  in  her  predicament; 
and  when  that  did  not  seem  to  console  them  much, 
I  added  that  I  was  not  at  all  sure  that  you  would 
not,  too!    That  fetched  them  round  wonderfully!  " 

She  is  out  of  the  room  before  the  outraged 
listener  can  hurl  the  richly  deserved  brickbat  at 
her  head. 

It  is  among  her  humbler  surroundings — servants, 
dependents,  and  tenants — that  Mrs.  Trent's  first 
successes  are  scored.  Whether  the  same  prosperity 
will  attend  her  among  a  higher  class  is  a  question 
that  Lettice  asks  herself  with  very  mixed  feelings. 
Of  course,  she  would  be  miserable  at  the  idea  that 
Jim's  wife  should  discredit  him.     This  is  the  re- 


FOES   IN   LAW  173 

spectable  sentiment  kept  on  show;  but,  packed 
well  under  it,  the  girl  is  sometimes  aware  of  a  little 
shabby  hankering  after  finding  some  echo  in  other 
breasts  of  her  own  deep  dislike  and  disapproval. 

The  neighbours  speed  to  call,  curiosity  adding 
long  wing-feathers  to  civility's  pinions.  They  in- 
vite the  bride  and  bridegroom  to  dinner,  and  the 
new  pair  go,  Marie  invariably  late,  having  generally 
mislaid  the  invitation,  doubtful,  but  perfectly  in- 
different, as  to  whether  or  not  it  is  the  right  day. 
She  always  departs  lamenting,  jeering,  and  invok- 
ing odd  little  curses  on  her  hosts;  she  invariably 
returns  with  some  fresh  food  for  her  active  imagina- 
tion and  insatiate  curiosity  about  her  fellow-crea- 
tures to  assimilate. 

After  the  first  of  these  functions  Lettice  cau- 
tiously sounds  her  brother  at  breakfast  next  morn- 
ing. 

"Was  it  pleasant?" 

"  H'm!  much  the  same  as  usual." 

"  You  were  rather  late,  were  not  you?  " 

"  Marie  did  not  notice  when  the  carriage  was 
announced.  She  was  interested  talking  to  a  young 
Frenchman  who  is  coaching  the  boys;  he  knew 
Coquelin  " — ^with  an  indulgent  smile — "  so,  of 
course,  that  set  her  ofif,  and  she  did  not  perceive 
that  everybody  but  us  had  gone." 

"  Rather  embarrassing." 

"  Not  in  the  least.  The  boys  swarmed  round  her, 
and  Sir  James  and  milady  joined  in,  and  it  was  by 
far  the  best  bit  of  the  evening." 

"Oh!  And  were  they  amused?  Did  Marie 
startle  them  at  all?  " 

**  They  did  not  confide  it  to  me  if  she  did." 


174  FOES  IN   LAW 

The  bristles,  which  have  sprung  into  existence 
with  his  marriage,  are  rising,  and  the  questioner 
desists. 

Lettice  will  not  now  need  to  rely  upon  questions 
for  getting  information  as  to  Marie*s  conduct  in 
society,  since  the  return  dinners  to  be  given  at 
Trent  will  afford  her  opportunities  for  observation 
on  her  own  account.  She  awaits  the  first  with  tre- 
pidating  curiosity.  The  invitations  have  been  sent, 
and  the  arrangements  made  by  herself,  Mrs.  Trent 
being  with  difficulty  brought  to  lend  an  ear  to  the 
subject,  but  acquiescing  with  the  greatest  readiness 
in  everything  proposed. 

"  I  wash  my  hands  of  it!  '*  she  cries,  lifting  her 
fingers  from  the  keyboard  of  the  piano,  where  she 
sits,  and  suiting  her  gesture  to  the  words,  "  so  that 
if  there  is  a  catastrophe " 

"  I  am  not  at  all  afraid  of  that  " — ^with  a  dignified 
confidence  born  of  the  memory  of  a  hundred  well- 
ordered  feasts. 

"  No,"  rejoins  the  other,  with  a  look  of  thought- 
ful humour;  "there  will  not  be  even  the  excite- 
ment of  thinking  that  the  cook  may  very  likely  be 
found  drunk  under  the  kitchen-table  ten  minutes 
before  dinner-time,  or  that  the  food  will  not  go 
round.    How  dull!" 

"  Have  you  arranged  how  you  will  send  the  peo- 
ple in  to  dinner  to-night?  "  asks  Lettice  on  the 
afternoon  of  the  appointed  day.  "  Only  three  or 
four  of  them  have  any  real  precedence;  but  the 
less  the  precedence  the  greater  the  sensitiveness 
generally." 

A  look  of  ineffable  boredom  passes  over  Marie's 
face. 


FOES  IN   LAW  175 

"  Cannot  1  say  '  I  have  not  the  least  idea  which 
among  you  are  the  greatest  swells,  so  sort  your- 
selves'?" 

"  You  know  that  that  is  impossible." 

"  Is  it?  We  always  sorted  ourselves  at  home. 
You  are  going  to  say  that  that  is  not  a  parallel  case. 
I  am  afraid  " — with  a  sigh  that  almost  heaves  Lulu 
off  her  lap — "  that  it  is  not." 

Miss  Trent  has  bitted  and  bridled  herself  before 
entering  upon  the  present  interview,  so  she  only 
says,  glancing  at  a  little  diagram  of  the  dinner- 
table  which  she  holds  in  her  hand — 

"  Jim  will,  of  course,  take  Lady  Clapperton,  and 
you  will  go  in  with  Lord  Clapperton." 

"  Tit  for  tat!  "  replies  Marie,  blandly  inattentive. 
"  And  what  am  I  to  say  to  Lord  Clapperclaw?  " 

From  the  days  of  the  immortal  "  Miggs,"  with 
her  insulting  "  Miss  Varson,"  and  probably  beford 
that  date,  there  has  been  a  pecuHarly  exasperating 
quality  in  the  wilful  miscalling  of  a  name,  and  the 
Clappertons  are  dear  to  Lettice's  soul.  They  have 
been  hereditary  friends  of  the  Trents  for  genera- 
tions, the  two  families  having  for  centuries  trotted 
through  life  alongside  of  each  other,  neck  to  neck 
in  the  race,  and  though  within  the  last  thirty  years 
the  Clappertons  have  shot  ahead  by  dint  of  marry- 
ing greater  heiresses  and  possessing  more  brains, 
the  solid  amity  welded  out  of  thousands  of  dead 
kindnesses  and  buried  sympathies  still  holds  firmly. 

"  Lord  Clapperton  " — pronouncing  the  final  syl- 
lable very  distinctly — "  is  a  brilliant  talker — most 
great  lawyers  are.    Many  people  think  he  will  end 
by  being  Lord  Chancellor." 
..    "  That  is  not  the  same  as  Lord  Chamberlain,  is 


176  FOES  IN   LAW 

it?  "  asks  Marie,  innocently.  "  If  so,  I  could  have 
asked  him  why  he  made  them  take  off  Rats  at  the 
Garrulity  after  it  had  only  run  three  nights." 

But  Lettice  is  not  to  be  "  drawn."  She  dresses 
for  the  party  with  her  heart  in  her  boots.  The 
reflection  crosses  her  mind  how  very  often  it  is 
there  now,  coupled  with  a  wonder  that  the  posses- 
sion of  the  love  of  her  life — a  term  by  which  she 
is  always  careful  to  allude  to  the  curate  to  herself — 
has  so  little  power  to  raise  her  spirits. 

Even  his  perfect  sympathy  with  her — a  sympathy 
which  he  would  like  to  make  more  overt  than  she 
allows — upon  the  subject  of  Marie  fails  to  be  pro- 
ductive of  any  real  satisfaction.  She  is  glad  that 
he  dislikes  Mrs.  Trent,  glad  that  his  eye  meets  her 
own  now  and  again  in  understanding  distaste  and 
disapproval;  yet  conscience  and  loyalty  to  Jim  for- 
bid her  indulging  in  the  unspeakable  refreshment 
of  telling  Randal,  and  letting  him  tell  her,  how 
cordially  both  detest  the  new-comer.  She  feels 
compelled,  on  the  contrary,  to  put  a  drag  upon  the 
wheel  of  his  eloquence,  and  has  to  do  so  this  very 
evening. 

The  company  have  reached  the  dinner-table  in 
safe  decorum.  Marie  has  not,  after  all,  insisted  on 
"  shooing  "  them  before  her  like  a  flock  of  turkeys. 
She  is  not  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  late  in 
appearing,  and  as  the  Clappertons  have  been  de- 
tained by  the  unpunctuality  of  the  judge^s  train 
from  London,  she  is  in  the  room  almost  as  soon  as 
they.  By  a  string  of  accidents  it  happens  that  this 
is  her  first  meeting  with  them,  and  she  begins  at 
once  to  talk  to  them  with  her  usual  high  volubility, 
no  slightest  consciousness  of  being  on  yi^W  before 


FOES   IN    LAW  177 

the  arbiters  of  the  neighbourhood  lowering  her 
voice  or  lending  a  shade  of  diffidence  to  her  man- 
ners. 

Lettice  winces  as  snatches  of  Marie's  rattling 
chatter  reach  her  across  the  room.  Poor  Jim!  His 
bride  might  have  let  it  dawn  more  gradually  upon 
his  oldest  friends  what  a  miracle  of  underbreeding 
he  has  chosen  to  fill  his  mother's  place!  But  she 
is  clearly  determined  that  from  the  outset  there 
shall  be  no  mistake. 

"  This  is  the  first  time  I  have  witnessed  your 
public  dethronement,"  Miss  Trent's  lover  says  to 
her,  neglecting  his  soup  to  glance  with  an  expres- 
sion in  his  eyes  that  startles  even  her — so  full  of 
angry  detestation  is  it — towards  the  head  of  the 
table. 

"  It  is  not  her  fault;  she  hates  being  hostess." 

"  As  she  hates  everything  that  looks  like  a  duty," 
he  rejoins  severely. 

"  She  is  much  neater  than  usual  to-night,"  says 
Lettice,  ashamed  of  the  prick  of  satisfaction  felt  by 
her,  and  laying  about  for  something  to  commend, 
"  and  has  not  nearly  so  many  bangles  on.  If  only 
that  dreadful  bracelet  with  the  photographs  of 
those  twelve  actors  and  actresses  whom  nobody 
ever  heard  of  could  come  to  grief!  " 

"  Why  does  Jim  allow  her  to  loll  her  arms  about 
the  table  in  the  way  she  does?  "  continues  Randal, 
not  much  attending  to  his  fiancee's  aspiration,  but 
continuing  his  own  hostile  observation. 

The  wrath  of  his  tone  is  so  disproportioned  to 
the  cause  that  Lettice  looks  at  him  in  wonder. 

"  How  violently  you  dislike  her!    After  all,  she 


178  FOES  IN   LAW 

has  never  done  you  any  harm.    I  think  you  ought 
to  struggle  against  it." 

"  She  is  the  type  of  woman  that  is,  of  all  others, 
most  repellent  to  me,'*  he  answers  in  a  key  that 
shows  little  inclination  to  take  his  love's  Christian 
hint  in  good  part.  "  It  was  an  evil  day  for  the 
parish  when  she  came  into  it." 

"  The  parish  does  not  think  so." 

His  vituperation  has  exceeded  the  bounds  of  that 
moderate  cavilling  which  gives  her  pleasure,  and 
some  of  the  frightened  surprise  she  feels  must  be 
visible  in  her  face,  for  with  an  apparent  effort  he 
changes  his  venue. 

"  It  is  intolerable  to  me  to  see  her  in  your  place." 

Her  voice  sinks.  "  Yet  it  is  owing  to  her  that  I 
am  able  to  leave  it." 

He  does  not  take  up  the  challenge,  and  she 
thinks  he  cannot  have  heard  it. 

"  If  you  dislike  the  conditions  in  which  you  see 
me — and  you  can't  do  so  more  than  I  do  myself — 
it  Hes  with  you  to  take  me  out  of  them." 

The  overture,  so  out  of  keeping  with  the  whole 
tenor  of  her  proud  and  modest  life,  painfully  suf- 
fuses her  soft-textured  face,  and  for  a  moment  she 
feels  hotly  indignant  with  him  for  that  it  has  not 
come  from  him.  But  the  fiash  of  passionate  grati- 
tude with  which  he  recompenses  it  effaces  the  im- 
pression. 

"  How  can  I  thank  you?  " 

"  By  taking  me  to  a  six-roomed  cottage  where 
there  are  no  in-laws,"  she  answers,  the  effort  it 
costs  her  to  make  a  proposition  so  out  of  keeping 
with  her  whole  life  and  character  lending  it  an  ex- 
aggerated emphasis. 


FOES   IN   LAW  179 

"  I  really  believe  that  you  mezfri  it,"  he  answers, 
with  a  sort  of  break  in  his  voice. 

"  Show  that  you  do,"  she  says. 

The  words  sound  unbelievable  in  her  own  ears, 
and  she  knows  that  they  do  so  in  his,  with  their 
persistent  initiative;  yet  the  desperate  logic  of  her 
thesis  that  in  such  a  love  as  theirs  concealment  and 
coyness  should  have  no  place  drives  her  on. 

"  You  do  not  realize  what  this  state  of  things  is 
to  me — the  hiding  what  there  is  no  reason  to  hide, 
the  continual  chafe  and  grate  here  " — with  a  glance 
towards  the  head  of  the  table.  "  If  you  did  you 
would  take  me  away." 

Her  revolted  blue  eyes  have  lifted  themselves  in 
bitter  upbraiding  to  his,  which  plunge  glowingly 
into  them.  Both  have  absolutely  forgotten  their 
dinners  and  their  fellow-guests. 

"  You  will  drive  me  mad  if  you  go  on  like  this," 
he  says,  breathing  heavily.  "  Do  you  think  that  I 
need  any  urging  to  take  you  to  my  arms?  But  I 
must  have  something  in  my  hand  when  I  ask  for 
you." 

"  I  am  in  no  one's  gift  but  my  own,"  she  answers, 
with  a  revival  of  pride  and  self-respect.  "  You 
yourself  have  told  me  so." 

"  Do  you  wish  me  to  have  the  humiliation  of  tak- 
ing all  and  giving  nothing?  "  he  asks  from  between 
the  teeth  that  excessive  excitement  makes  him  set. 
"  You  have  faith  in  me,  but  who  else  has?  Wait,  at 
all  events,  till  after  the  20th — till  after  I  have 
preached  at  Swyndford." 

"  How  very  much  you  are  counting  upon  that!  " 
she  says  uneasily.  "  What  do  you  expect  to  come 
of  it?" 

"  I  shall  get  a  hearing.    It  is  the  only  lever  I  have 


i8o  FOES   IN   LAW 

ever  asked  for.  I  did  not  think  that  my  other  self 
would  have  needed  to  have  that  again  explained." 

There  is  impatience  and  reproach  in  his  voice, 
but  her  rejoinder  is  not  framed  with  a  view  to 
soothing  him,  and  there  is  a  distressed  crease  in  her 
brow. 

"  A  lever  to  help  you  to  what?  A  fat  living,  or 
a  fashionable  pulpit?  That  is  not  what  your  other 
self  had  planned  for  you." 

A  flash  of  hot  indignation  at  being  thus  schooled 
by  his  own  disciple  springs  into  his  eyes,  but  it  is 
in  a  tone  of  resolved  patience  such  as  one  would 
employ  to  a  slow-witted  child  that  after  a  moment 
he  answers  her. 

"  You  are  confounding  the  means  with  the  end. 
If  I  do  passionately  wish  for  the  '  fashionable  pul- 
pit '  that  you  twit  me  with,  it  is  because  I  know 
that  I  have  something  worth  hearing  to  say  from  it 
— something  that  the  world  will  be  the  richer  for.  If 
I  am  anxious  to  climb  the  ladder,  it  is  because  more 
people  will  hear  me  when  I  am  at  the  top  than  when 
I  am  at  the  bottom.  The  Swyndford  pulpit  is  the 
first  rung." 

His  sentence,  begun  in  careful  self-restraint,  ends 
in  open  elation.  His  betrothed  looks  up  at  him  in 
troubled  sympathy.  Is  it  real  inspiration  that  is 
lightening  in  his  hawk  eye  and  dilating  his  fine  nos- 
tril? The  answer  comes  blurred  and  undecipher- 
able, like  a  bad  telegram,  from  the  bottom  of  her 
heart. 

"  I  wish  it  wa?  over,"  she  murmurs  nervously. 
"  The  very  excess  of  your  desire  to  excel  your- 
self  " 

"  May  give  me  stage-fright,  as  our  hostess  would 
say,"  he  interrupts,  laughing  derisively. 


FOES   IN   LAW  i8i 

"  No,  I  do  not  think  that  there  is  much  fear  of 
that." 

"What  would  our  hostess  say?"  cries  Marie's 
ringing  voice,  sent  in  defiance  of  convention  flying 
over  orchids,  guests,  and  Bleu-du-Roi  Sevres  china 
to  the  distant  speaker.  "  Something  very  much  to 
the  point,  I  am  sure." 

Her  hearing  is  as  abnormal  as  her  other  gifts; 
but  apparently  she  does  not  care  for  an  answer,  re- 
turning at  once  to  the  biographical  explanation  she 
is  evidently  giving  to  Lord  Clapperton  of  the  the- 
atrical bracelet,  for  whose  destruction  Lettice  has 
sighed. 

The  great  lawyer  is  looking  with  grave  attention 
at  the  pretty  slender  arm  lifted  close  to  his  near- 
sighted eyes,  and  following  with  apparently  ab- 
sorbed interest  the  history  of  each  medallion  por- 
trait, as  in  succession  they  are  turned  round  for  his 
inspection. 

Lady  Clapperton  is  regarding  the  little  drama 
with  a  smile,  that  Miss  Trent  is  certain  must  be 
forced,  through  her  tortoiseshell  pince-nez,  from 
the  other  end  of  the  table.  She  has  said  all  that 
she  has  to  say  to  Jim — he  is  not  a  person  with 
whom  conversation  rolls  on  easy  wheels — and  has 
been  for  some  moments  quite  ready  to  go,  a  fact  of 
which  Marie  does  not  become  aware  for  some  time, 
as  indeed  the  separation  of  the  sexes  after  dinner  is 
one  of  the  subjects  upon  which  she  holds  strong 
opinions.  When  at  last,  her  exegesis  finished,  she 
makes  up  her  mind  to  depart,  her  tones  are  clearly 
audible  in  the  regretful  utterance  to  her  neigh- 
bour— 

"  I  do  wish  that  you  were  coming  too." 


CHAPTER   XIV 

Lettice  had  counted  upon  a  half-hour*s  talk  with 
her  friend  Lady  Clapperton  in  the  manless  draw- 
ing-room interval,  a  soothing  talk,  when  the 
hereditary  ally  would  have  shown,  .by  delicately 
sympathetic  indications,  her  perfect  comprehension 
of  and  fellow-feeling  with  Miss  Trent's  attitude  of 
mind  towards  her  foe-in-law;  and  Lettice  would 
have  salved  her  own  conscience,  and  kept  her  loy- 
alty to  Jim  by  generous  admissions  and  noble  reti- 
cences. But  it  soon  appears  she  has  reckoned 
without  her  guest.  Marie's  offer  of  her  cigarette- 
box — at  which  a  shudder  runs  over  her  sister-in- 
law's  frame — is  followed,  not  by  the  disgusted 
drawing  up  of  Lady  Clapperton's  many-verte- 
brated  neck,  which  seemed  the  only  possible  an- 
swer to  it,  but  by  an  indulgent,  laughing  headshake, 
and  a  subsidence  together  of  the  incongruous  pair 
upon  a  sofa.  Then,  as  Lettice  with  inward  groan- 
ing verifies,  the  theatrical  bracelet  again  comes 
into  play,  and  is  a  second  time  eagerly  explained 
to  an  apparently  absorbed  listener. 

The  ex-mistress  of  the  house  does  not  show  the 
heaviness  of  her  spirit  as  she  pays  the  pleasant  and 
equally  divided  attentions  that  she  has  always  done 
on  like  occasions  to  the  rest  of  the  company.  She 
is  conscious  that  her  manners  are,  and  have  always 
been,  thought  good;  but  it  is  with  a  very  distracted 
attention  that  their  habitual  appreciators  listen  to 

182 


FOES   IN    LAW  183 

her  to-night.  Their  eyes  are  continually  straying 
towards  the  daughter  of  Heth,  who  has  slipped 
from  the  sofa  on  to  the  floor  at  Lady  Clapperton's 
feet,  and  is  breaking  the  butler's  back  in  his  en- 
deavour to  get  the  coffee-pot  down  low  enough  to 
pour  coffee  into  her  cup  at  a  respectful  angle. 

Whatever  subject  Miss  Trent  starts  it  invariably 
circles  round  to  the  one  which  she  is  most  resolute 
to  avoid.  Even  Mrs.  Taylor,  so  long  her  own 
sturdy  henchwoman,  and  who  ought  to  be  used  to 
Marie  by  now,  can  talk  of  nothing  else.  Mrs. 
Taylor's  trips  into  society  are  few,  thanks  to  that 
remarkable  speciality  in  sick-headaches  which  fills 
her  vicar  with  melancholy  pride,  but  when  she  does 
emerge  she  enjoys  herself  with  improbable  violence. 

"  You  heard  Mrs.  Trent's  plan  of  taking  me  to 
the  Empire?  "  she  says,  chuckling.  "  Was  not  it 
original  of  her?  Mr.  Taylor  was  shocked  at  first  " 
— the  vicar's  wife  belongs  to  the  class  who  to  their 
nearest  and  dearest  would  always  talk  of  their  hus- 
band as  "  Mr.  Taylor  " — "  but  now  he  owns  that 
with  that  way  of  hers  she  can  carry  off  anything." 

When  the  men  enter,  the  vicar  draws  a  chair  up 
between  his  spouse  and  Lettice.  At  a  party  it  is 
always  the  good  man's  impulse  to  join  his  wife,  but 
to-night  she  baffles  him. 

"  I  shall  be  a  bad  third,"  she  says  to  Lettice, 
bustling  off,  beaming  with  good  spirits.  "  You  and 
Mr.  Taylor  have  always  so  much  to  say  to  each 
other." 

Her  lord  looks  after  her  apprehensively.  "  Poor 
thing!  how  much  she  is  enjoying  herself,  and  yet 
she  knows  that  she  will  have  to  pay  for  it  to-mor- 
row," he  says  with  sombre  exultation. 


i84  FOES   IN   LAW 

Lettice  knows  him  too  well  to  suggest  that  there 
may  be  for  once  relache  in  Mrs.  Taylor's  post- 
dinner-party  agonies;  and  indeed  her  eyes  and 
thoughts  have  wandered  from  the  excellent  pair. 

Randal  is  opening  the  piano  at  Marie's  resonant 
command,  fetching  her  banjo,  being  scolded  for 
having  brought  the  wrong  music  from  the  canter- 
bury, and  being  finally  packed  ofif  in  favour  of  Lord 
Clapperton,  whom  she  insists  on  having  turn  over 
the  pages  of  her  noisy  song,  a  duty  which  the  judge 
performs  as  one  might  expect  that  he  would. 

Lettice's  heart  burns  for  her  lover.  How  in- 
tensely— with  his  deep  antipathy  to  Mrs.  Trent — 
must  he  dislike  the  whole  exhibition!  His  back  is 
turned  towards  his  -fiancee,  so  she  cannot  see  the 
expression  of  his  face,  but  she  knows  pretty  well 
what  it  is  likely  to  be.  Yet,  to  her  surprise,  he  does 
not  accept  his  dismissal  from  the  cave  of  harmony, 
but  mingles  with  the  little  crowd  of  black  coats 
that  presently,  thronging  round,  hide  Steinway  and 
singer,  and  the  voice  whose  grave  melody  has  so 
often  thrilled  her  in  intoning  the  Liturgy  is  plainly 
audible  in  the  braying  chorus  of  the  latest  imbecili- 
ties from  the  "  Frivolity  Girl."  It  is  a  strange 
world! 

The  party  breaks  up  at  last,  fully  an  hour  later 
than  usual,  though  even  then  greatly  against  the 
hostess's  will,  who  begs  the  guests  severally  and 
collectively  to  prolong  their  stay,  and  save  her  from 
the  odious  necessity  of  going  to  bed. 

The  vicar  has  remained  throughout  the  per- 
formance by  Lettice's  side,  with  a  look  of  puzzled 
amusement  on  his  face,  which  the  share  taken  by 
his  curate  in  the  musical  orgy  seems  to  heighten. 


FOES   IN    LAW  185 

He  leans  across  the  arm  of  his  chair  to  ask  in  a 
subdued  voice  whether  Lettice  has  heard  that 
Chevening  is  to  preach  at  Swyndford  on  the 
24th. 

She  nods  assent,  feeling  a  little  prick  of  remorse- 
ful gratitude  to  him  for  not  alluding  to  the  sacrifice 
on  his  own  part  by  which  this  has  been  made  pos- 
sible. 

"  He  expects  great  things  from  it/'  continues  the 
clergyman,  looking  with  an  air  of  troubled  goodwill 
towards  his  subordinate.  "  I  only  hope  he  will  not 
be  disappointed." 

The  vicar  has  uttered  Miss  Trent's  own  misgiv- 
ing— a  thing  that  is  always  irritating — and  perhaps 
he  is  aware  of  some  lapse  from  tact  in  his  utter- 
ance; at  least,  the  shape  of  his  next  sentence  looks 
like  it. 

"  I  hoped  that  he  was  getting  more  reconciled  to 
his  work  here,  fretting  less  over  being  thrown  away 
as  he  thinks  he  is;  he  is  certainly  much  more  active 
in  the  parish  than  he  used  to  be.  I  had  noticed  it 
myself,  and  Mrs.  Trent  tells  me  that  she  is  con- 
tinually meeting  him  at  the  bedsides  of  those 
among  our  sick  people  whom  she  has  undertaken 
in  her  droll  way  to  doctor." 

A  slight  and  instantly  checked  dart  of  surprise 
shoots  across  Lettice.  It  must  be  because  so  many 
more  interesting  subjects  have  crowded  them  out 
of  Randal's  memory,  that  he  has  omitted  to  men- 
tion to  her  the  insignificant  fact  of  these  rencoun- 
ters, so  distasteful  to  him.  There  is  a  slight 
quickness  in  her  voice  as  she  answers  dryly — 

"  It  will  not  be  very  droll  for  them  if  she  kills 
them!" 


i86  FOES   IN   LAW 

Then  comes  the  break-up,  and  with  it  the 
vicaress,  full  of  elated  gratitude  for  "the  most 
delightful  evening  she  has  ever  spent,  even  here, 
where  the  evenings  are  always  delightful/'  to  fetch 
her  "  Mr.  Taylor." 

At  the  very  last  Lettice  gets  a  fragment  of 
speech  with  Lady  Clapperton,  but  it  is  hardly  of  the 
character  she  had  planned,  and  she  soon  finds  that 
she  may  save  her  own  "  generous  admissions  and 
noble  reticences  '*  for  a  more  propitious  occasion. 

"  My  dear,  she  takes  one  by  storm!  I  had  had 
rather  a  prejudice  against  her.  I  may  own  it  to  you 
now;  but  it  is  absolutely  impossible  to  resist  her. 
And  what  a  lovely  creature!  She  tells  me  that  she 
has  a  sister  who  is  far  better-looking  than  herself 
on  the  stage,  and  a  most  promising  young  actress. 
What  a  strange  new  milieu  for  you!  But  we  shall 
all  be  the  better  for  being  waked  up  a  little." 

"  That  is  what  Jim  tells  me;  but  personally  I 
think  I  prefer  being  asleep." 

She  would  not  have  said  it  had  she  not  been 
cross,  jaded,  and  bitterly  disappointed  in  the  total 
failure  of  sympathy  where  she  had  looked  for  it 
most  confidently;  and  the  hereditary  ally,  with  her 
own  sons  secure,  observes  comfortably  to  her 
sleepy  judge  on  their  homeward  way  that  she 
should  have  thought  Lettice  would  have  had  the 
sense  to  make  the  best  of  it,  but  that  she  is  evi- 
dently not  going  to  do  so. 

"  Of  course,  Mrs.  Jim  is  as  bad  style  as  it  is  pos- 
sible to  be,"  pursues  the  lady,  contentedly;  "  but 
one  forgives  anything  to  such  a  face." 

"  I  never  know  when  a  woman  is  bad  style," 
replies  the  judge,  adjusting  his  head  more  satis- 


FOES  IN   LAW  187 

factorily  to  his  corner  of  the  carriage;  "  and  I  am 

very  much  in  love  with  her!  ** 

****** 

It  is  a  truism  of  truisms  that  our  granted  wishes 
often  mock  us — turn  round  and  snap  maHcious 
fingers  in  our  faces.  There  are  few  things  that 
have  been  more  ardently  desired  by  Esmeralda 
Kergouet  and  her  married  sister  than  that  Miss 
Tiny  Villiers  of  the  Garrulity  should  once  more 
fall  a  prey  to  influenza!  But  though  the  season  is 
singularly  propitious — half  the  staff  of  the  theatre 
being  laid  low — and  Miss  Villiers  herself  takes  the 
malady  severely  and  keeps  it  long,  yet  what  does 
this  avail  to  her  ardent  young  understudy,  since 
the  piece  itself  is  taken  off?  That  incalculable  fac- 
tor, the  British  public,  upon  whose  likings  and 
dislikings  the  oldest  and  subtlest  manager  is  unable 
to  reckon  with  any  certainty,  has  shown  itself 
unmistakably  disapproving,  and  in  the  stock  piece, 
hastily  put  on  to  supply  its  place,  there  is  no  need 
— even  hypothetical — for  Miss  Poppy  Delafield. 

Loud  and  long  are  the  laments  of  Marie,  uttered 
to  any  one  who  will  listen  to  her.  Warm  and  acute 
is  the  sympathy  of  Mrs.  Taylor,  and  amused  and 
interested  that  of  Lady  Clapperton,  who  happens 
to  call  on  the  day  when  the  thunderbolt  has  fallen. 

"  There  is  only  one  bright  spot  in  the  whole 
thing,"  cries  Mrs.  Trent,  with  eyes  made  suddenly 
more  brilliant  by  a  glorious  idea,  and  taking  for 
granted,  as  she  always  does,  that  her  subject  is  of 
as  enthralling  an  interest  to  her  interlocutor  as  it 
is  to  herself — "  you  will  all  see  her  much  sooner 
than  you  would  otherwise  have  done.  As  she  has 
no  engagements,  she  will  be  able  to  come  down  at 


i88  FOES   IN   LAW 

Easter  with  the  others.  As  I  told  you,  all  my  peo- 
ple are  coming  at  Easter — father,  the  girls,  the 
boys,  everybody  but  poor  Gabriel;  and,  thank  God, 
Easter  is  early  this  year." 

Miss  Trent,  who  is  present,  quietly  sewing,  steals 
a  look  at  her  family's  friend.  Lady  Clapperton  is 
as  aware  as  herself  of  the  character  and  history  of 
Kergouet  pere.  Surely  now,  if  ever,  she  will  show 
some  sign  of  freezing  up,  or  at  least  shrinking  from 
the  implied  project  of  bringing  her  acquainted  with 
the  hopelessly  damaged  gentleman  to  whom  Marie 
owes  her  birth.  Country  memories  for  vice  and 
disgrace  are  long  and  retentive;  witness  poor  Mrs. 
Fairfax,  unpardoned,  unannealed,  after  ten  im- 
maculate years. 

There  is  a  second^s  pause,  when  the  half-hope  of 
hearing  a  merited  snub  dawns  shabbily  in  Lettice's 
heart. 

"It  is  a  very  bright  spot!"  replies  the  visitor 
with  civil  heartiness,  and  judiciously  ignoring 
"  father."  "  From  what  you  tell  me  I  am  dying  to 
meet  her." 

"  And  so  you  shall!  "  cries  Marie,  in  the  tone  of 
one  conferring  a  deserved  but  high  favour.  "  What 
is  more,  you  shall  see  her  do  something.  I  have 
always  meant  to  get  up  a  little  piece  when  the 
children  came — we  all  act,  you  know,  it  is  in  our 
blood;  light  high  comedy  is  her  Hne,  not  farce — 
and  when  she  once  gets  an  opening  you  will  see 
that  she  will  be  hard  to  beat." 

Lady  Clapperton  is  sure  that  she  will,  and  goes 
away  almost  as  delighted  with  Mrs.  Trent  as  she 
is  that  that  lovely  alien  is  not  her  own  daughter- 
in-law;    and  with  a  compunctious  inward  amuse- 


FOES   IN   LAW  189 

ment — though  she  is  not  a  woman  with  a  strong 
sense  of  the  ridiculous — at  poor  Lettice's  glum  an- 
guish over  her  sister-in-law's  Green-Room  ecstasies. 

Miss  Trent  does  not  forget  at  her  next  meeting 
with  her  sweetheart  to  inquire  casually  why  he  has 
never  happened  to  mention  his  meetings  with 
Marie  by  the  parochial  sick-beds.  He  gives  the 
kind  of  answer  that  she  had  expected. 

**  Surely  we  have  enough  of  her  as  a  topic  with- 
out her  thrusting  herself  between  us  when  we  have 
the  good  luck  to  be  alone!  " 

He  speaks  with  such  an  air  of  irritated  ennui, 
turning  his  head  half  away,  that  Lettice  hastens  to 
soothe  him. 

"  Thrusting  herself  between  us  I "  she  answers 
with  a  little  laugh  of  derision.  "  I  do  not  think  I 
am  much  afraid  of  that." 

He  changes  the  topic  quickly,  and  she  gladly 
follows  his  lead,  to  that  subject  whose  interest 
for  them  both  never  palls — Chevening's  sermon  at 
Swyndford  on  the  24th.  It  has  frightened  the  girl 
to  see  what  a  toppling  erection  the  hopes  that  both 
of  them  are  building  on  it,  for  she  has  caught  the 
infection  of  his  eagerness,  have  risen  to  ere  the 
fateful  date  is  reached. 

He  is  so  unnerved  when  he  bids  her  good-bye 
before  setting  oflF,  that  she  puts  all  the  bracing 
quality  she  can  into  her  parting  speech. 

"  Do  not  think  of  your  audience,"  she  says, 
with  a  seriousness  that  is  touched  with  solemnity; 
"  think  only  of  what  you  are  saying,  and — and  " — 
she  hesitates  perceptibly,  for,  after  all,  it  is  a  reversal 
of  their  proper  roles;  and  of  late  the  spiritual  side 


190  FOES   IN    LAW 

of  their  relation  seems  to  have  suffered  some 
ecHpse — "  and  of  whose  mouthpiece  you  are!  " 

The  admonition  sounds  exquisitely  trite  in  her 
own  ears,  but  he  takes  it  in  good  part. 

"  You  are  right,"  he  answers,  almost  humbly. 
"  I  know  the  dangers  to  which  my  horribly 
emotional  nature  expose  me;  but  as  long  as  I  have 
you  beside  me  in  body  or  in  spirit  they  will  not  best 
me!" 

She  hopes  devoutly  that  it  is  true,  and  the  wishes 
and  prayers  that  follow  him,  as  she  sits  in  h«r  usual 
place  at  evening  service,  with  the  placid,  blunt  ex- 
cellence of  the  vicar's  face  above  her  instead  of  the 
chiselled  eagerness  of  her  lover's,  even  though  they 
distract  her  from  the  good  man's  theme,  will  not 
be  reckoned  very  heavily  against  her. 

The  vicar  is  difficult  to  listen  to,  and  yet  his  ser- 
mons cannot  be  said  to  be  unprofitable;  their 
kindliness,  their  humility,  their  devoutness  lend  to 
the  listener's  wandering  thoughts,  without  their 
being  aware  of  it,  their  own  colour;  and  many  a 
one  has  left  Trent  church  unsuspecting  that  the 
good  action  on  which  he  has  resolved,  or  the  ill  of 
which  he  has  repented,  are  alike  due  to  the  in- 
fluence of  the  dull  preacher  who  has  talked  for  five 
and  twenty  minutes  of  he  could  not  say  what. 

"  I  do  not  know  when  I  have  had  such  a  beau- 
tiful sleep,"  says  Marie,  in  a  very  wakeful  voice,  as 
they  all  walk  swiftly  home  across  the  park,  through 
the  muffled  January  evening.  "  But  one  cannot 
quarrel  with  any  one  for  putting  one  to  sleep  when 
he  sends  one  beautiful  dreams.  I  dreamt  that  Craw- 
ley had  given  Esmeralda  the  Juvenile  lead." 

Chevening  is  to  spend  the  night  following  his 


FOES   IN   LAW  191 

sermon- at  Swyndford,  and  to  meet  his  betrothed 
with  the  least  possible  delay  after  his  return.  She 
knows  the  hour  at  which  his  train  is  due,  and  has 
calculated  to  a  nicety  the  necessary  extra  moments 
before  he  can  appear.  But  the  margin,  which  she 
has  been  careful  to  make  a  liberal  one,  is  exceeded 
by  two  hours  and  more  ere  they  meet.  She  has 
tried  to  persuade  herself  that  the  delay  is  owing  to 
his  having  so  much  impressed  his  hosts  that  they 
are  loth  to  part  with  him.  Her  first  glance  at  his 
face  tells  her  that  this  hypothesis  is  not  the  right 
one. 

"Well?" 

"Well?" 

The  utter  depression  of  tone  with  which  he  pro- 
nounces the  monosyllable  would  be  enough  answer 
without  the  pallor  of  his  look  and  the  nerveless  way 
in  which  he  collapses  into  the  nearest  chair.  He 
offers  no  embrace  or  even  greeting. 

"  If  you  take  my  advice,  you  will  show  me  the 
door,"  he  says  presently,  with  a  little  January 
laugh.    "  I  am  a  failure — a  rate!  " 

"  What!  "  she  cries,  recalling  the  unstrung  state 
in  which  he  had  parted  from  her.  "  You  did  not 
break  down?  " 

"  I  might  have  done  so,  for  all  it  would  have 
mattered." 

"  I  do  not  understand  " — looking  bewildered 
and  frightened.  "  Was  the  church  empty,  do  you 
mean?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  as  to  numbers.  I  never  am 
conscious  as  to  whether  I  am  speaking  to  many  or 
to  few.  I  only  know  when  there  is  any  one  out  of 
whom  I  can  strike  a  spark." 


192  FOES  IN   LAW 

"  And  in  all  that  big  church  there  was  none?  " — 
incredulously. 

"Not  a  soul!" 

"  The  Swyndfords  themselves?  " 

She  makes  the  suggestion  half  shamefacedly, 
feeling  it  to  be  degrading  to  him  and  herself  to 
treat  such  a  sacred  gift  as  a  bid  for  a  patron*s  ap- 
proval. 

"  I  think  the  duke  went  to  sleep." 

"And  the  duchess?" 

"  She  was  not  there.  She  had  gone  to  hear  the 
Bishop  of  Stepney." 

The  murder  is  out!  Lettice  is  conscious  of  a 
flashed  impression  that  the  catastrophe  thus  re- 
vealed was,  in  vulgar  phrase,  "  a  judgment  "  on  her 
lover  for  his  selfishness  towards  the  vicar;  but  she 
is  extremely  shocked  with  herself  for  a  thought  so 
inconsistent  with  the  real  thing. 

There  are  a  few  moments'  silence  after  the  blow 
has  fallen.  The  lovers  are,  as  usual,  in  the  privacy 
of  Lettice's  sitting-room,  whither — so  thin  is  now 
the  disguise  that  veils  their  engagement — the 
young  man  is  always  shown  by  the  servants  with- 
out any  special  directions.  It  is  a  good,  pleasant, 
useful  room,  with  its  air  of  mingled  work  and  play, 
and  stamped  with  that  exquisite  neatness  of  its 
owner  which  of  late  has  tended  to  become  carica- 
tured. It  seems  as  if  every  fresh  laxity  introduced 
by  Marie — unintentionally,  for  she  has  no  ambi- 
tion to  be  an  innovator — into  the  rest  of  the  house 
must  be  expiated  by  some  fresh  rigour  of  nicety  in 
Lettice*s  own  domain. 

The  only  flaw  now  in  the  bower's  maidenly  per- 
fection is  the  idol  of  whom  it  has  of  late  been  the 


FOES  IN    LAW  193 

shrine,  and  who  now — in  a  prostration  almost  as 
complete  as  Dagon's — lies  crumpled  and  crump- 
ling in  one  of  its  spotless  chintz  chairs. 

His  betrothed  looks  at  the  sufferer  for  a  space 
with  distress  in  her  steady  blue  eyes,  then  comes 
and  kneels  down  beside  him.  It  is  well  for  him 
that  he  does  not  suspect  the  cause  which  brings  her 
there.  It  is  a  second  and  stronger  impulse  of  hor- 
ror at  herself  for  the  spasm  of  contempt  that  has 
struck  through  all  her  being  at  his  attitude. 

Contempt!  For  him  between  whom  and  all  other 
men  she  has  herself  set  the  impassable  barrier  of 
her  own  violent,  voluntary  kisses;  for  him  whose 
sustaining  and  humbly  ministering  to,  in  his  high 
career,  is  to  be  the  one  butt  and  end  of  existence; 
for  him  who,  if  she  does  not  love  him  with  the  one 
exclusive  passion  of  a  lifetime,  she  must  for  ever 
be  degraded  beneath  her  own  feet  in  the  dust! 

Contempt!  It  is  incredible,  and  yet  none  the  less 
true,  that  that  one  of  Love's  executioners  who 
perhaps  does  his  work  most  swiftly  and  best  has 
touched  her  on  the  shoulder.  It  is,  indeed,  that 
very  executioner  who  sends  her  to  his  side. 

He  is  lying  with  his  face  half  hidden  on  his  coat- 
sleeve,  and  she  touches  his  arm  before  she  can  rouse 
his  attention. 

"  I  think  you  are  taking  it  too  much  to  heart," 
she  says,  her  voice  all  the  gentler  because  of  a 
lurking  terror  that  that  horrible  new  note  may 
have  got  into  it  too.  "  I  am  afraid  " — changing 
the  pronoun  into  the  one  that  sweetly  implies  part- 
nership— "  that  we  have  gone  the  wrong  way  to 
work." 

He  sits  up  rather  suddenly,  as  if  something  in  the 


194  FOES   IN   LAW 

timbre  of  her  voice,  soft  as  it  is,  had  straightened 
his  spine. 

"  You  think,"  he  says,  and  his  eyes  have  regained 
their  bright  falcon  look,  "  that  it  is  wholly  and 
solely  the  blow  to  my  self-love  from  which  I  am 
sufifering.  A  more  perfect  sympathy  would  per- 
haps have  read  a  worthier  motive  into  my  disap- 
pointment; but  perhaps  you  are  right." 

There  can  be  no  mistake  as  to  the  reproach  con- 
veyed. Resentment  at  his  injustice,  lined  with  a 
still  more  uncomfortable  sense  that  perhaps  it  is 
not  injustice,  after  all,  and  that  he  has  hit  the  nail 
all  too  truly  on  the  head,  keep  her  proudly  silent, 
and  lift  her  quietly  from  her  knees.  If  the  wounded 
animal  into  whose  gashes  you  are  pouring  your 
kind  medicaments  turns  round  and  snaps  at  you, 
common  prudence  recommends  you  to  put  yourself 
out  of  reach  of  his  bite. 

But  the  mood  is  short-lived,  and  the  former  pang 
of  self-horror  displaces  it.  Is  this  the  way  in  which 
she  is  going  to  fulfil  what  is  henceforth  to  be  her 
life-work — the  sharing  and  lightening  all  the  sor- 
rows and  burdens  that  will  weigh  upon  the  too 
sensitive  spirit  of  her  Chosen  One?  What  would 
the  real  thing  prompt  her  to  do?  To  sit  down  upon 
the  arm  of  his  chair  and  put  her  own  arm  round 
his  neck.  Without  a  blench  or  a  moment's  delay 
she  does  it. 

"  We  are  not  going  to  improve  things  by  quar- 
relling over  them?  "  she  asks  with  a  lightness  that 
does  not  come  easily  to  her.  "  What  I  meant  was 
that  I  was  afraid  we  had  both  been  building  too 
much  upon  what  we  thought  was  going  to  be  a 
short  cut  to — to — our  own  happiness." 


FOES   IN    LAW  195 

Her  proximity  improves  his  spirits,  and  since 
she  invited  the  caress  she  cannot  complain  of  the 
long  straitness  of  his  clasp.  But  to-day  it  brings 
no  thrill  with  it. 

"  Perhaps  we  need  this  discipline  of  disappoint- 
ment," she  says;  and  though  she  still  employs  the 
plural  pronoun,  to  her  ear  the  phrase  may  have  a 
private  fitness  to  her  own  case. 

"  Perhaps,"  he  acquiesces  heavily. 

"  And  meanwhile " — trying  to  speak  with  a 
bracing  light  cheerfulness — "  we  will  not  go  in 
search  of  any  more  'openings.'  When  they  are 
good  for  us — when  we  are  ripe  for  them — they  will 
come,  never  fear.  And  meanwhile  " — she  has  been 
more  successful  with  him  than  with  herself — 
"  meanwhile  " — in  a  tone  and  with  appropriate 
action  that  ought  to  leave  nothing  to  be  desired — 
"  we  have  each  other." 


CHAPTER   XV 

The  expected  advent  of  Mrs.  Trent's  family,  so  far 
from  lessening  the  volume  of  her  correspondence 
with  every  member  of  it,  seems,  on  the  contrary, 
sensibly  to  have  increased  its  bulk,  judging  by  the 
time  she  devotes  to  it.  The  candidates  for  her 
surgery  and  the  believers  in  her  quack  medicines 
have  so  increased  in  the  village  that  her  delighted 
attention  to  their  claims,  coupled  with  her  always 
perfect  contempt  for  time,  have  made  her,  if  possi- 
ble, more  irregular  than  ever  in  her  hours.  It  is, 
therefore,  no  surprise  to  Lettice  that — Jim  being 
out  shooting — she  begins,  continues,  and  finishes 
her  luncheon  alone. 

She  is  sipping  her  coffee  afterwards  in  a  very 
flattened  mood,  when  the  sort  of  loquacious  whirl 
that  always  heralds  Marie's  approach  announces 
that  her  sister-in-law  is  nigh,  and  in  another  mo- 
ment she  stands  before  her. 

Ever  since  the  prodigious  uplifting  of  Mrs. 
Trent's  always  high  spirits  that  has  followed  the 
actual  fixing  the  day  on  which  the  Kergouets  are 
to  arrive,  Lettice  has  been  conscious  of  some  tenta- 
tive efforts  on  Marie's  part  to  conciliate  herself. 
As  her  own  dislike  is  not  in  the  least  lessened,  she 
compounds  with  her  conscience  for  not  responding 
to  advances  which,  after  all,  are  fitful  and  dubious, 

196 


FOES   IN    LAW  197 

by  pretending  that  they  do  not  exist.  There  is 
nothing  dubious,  however,  to-day  about  Marie's 
face  and  voice.  Both  express  a  high  degree  of 
friendly  indignation. 

''  I  call  it  a  perfect  scandal!  "  she  cries,  dropping 
dov^n,  with  her  usual  flexible  agility,  on  to  the  floor 
at  Lettice's  feet. 

The  other  regards  her  with  distrustful  astonish- 
ment. 

"  And  you  are  not  very  easily  scandalized, 
either,"  she  answers  ungenially. 

**  I  mean,  of  course,  the  way  in  which  they  have 
treated  him." 

A  twilight  glimmer  of  understanding,  so  dis- 
agreeable that  she  refuses  to  own  its  existence  to 
herself,  steals  through  a  chink  into  Lettice*s  mind. 

*'  You  forget  that  I  have  no  idea  as  to  what  you 
are  talking  about." 

Mrs.  Trent  would  be  much  less  quick-witted  than 
she  is  if  she  did  not  perceive  the  lofty  aloofness  of 
the  effort  to  keep  her  and  her  sympathy  at  arms' 
length,  and  much  less  quick-tempered  than  she  is 
if  she  did  not  resent  it.  There  is  a  change  in  the 
strong  partisanship  of  her  first  key. 

"  I  am  talking  of  Randal  Chevening,  and  the 
way  in  which  your  fine  friends  have  treated  him." 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  which  clause  of  this 
sentence  is  richest  in  exasperating  power  upon  its 
hearer,  the  familiarity  of  the  "  Randal  "  or  the 
assumption  of  social  inferiority  implied  in  "  your 
fine  friends." 

Marie  has  long  discovered  that  to  talk  of  the 
upper  classes  as  if  she  did  not  belong  to  them  is 
one  of  the  deadliest  weapons  she  possesses  against 


I9S  FOES   IN    LAW 

her  sister-in-law;  and  she  would  not  have  taken  it 
out  of  her  armoury  now  if  in  her  moment  of  ex- 
pansion she  had  not  been  thrown  back. 

"  Of  course,  I  understand  now  what  you  are 
alluding  to,"  replies  Lettice,  her  fair  face  rigid  with 
the  effort  at  self-governance;  ^' but  even  now  I 
cannot  imagine  how  you  came  to  hear  it." 

"A  little  bird  sang  it  in  my  ear,"  replies  the 
other,  with  a  glint  of  mirth  at  her  victim's  strug- 
gles with  indignant  incredulity — "  a  little  bird  who 
was  so  full  of  it  that  he  would  have  sung  it  in  any 
one's  ear.  He  walked  " — dropping  her  feathered 
metaphor — "  back  across  the  park  with  me.  I  met 
him  in  the  village,  but  he  would  not  come  in;  he 
was  too  much  upset.'* 

Lettice  sits  looking  straight  before  her.  She 
cannot  sort  her  emotions  yet;  only  she  knows  that 
they  are  all  painful  and  humiliating,  and  that  the 
arch  Love-slayer,  whose  first  onset  she  had  with 
horror  repulsed  this  very  morning,  is  working  his 
way  to  the  top.  That  Randal  should  have  obtruded 
his  jeremiade  upon  Marie — not  that  she  is  not 
always  delighted  to  listen  to  people's  jeremiades — 
Marie,  for  whom  the  expressions  of  his  aversion 
have  exceeded  the  bounds  of  Christian  charity,  and 
driven  herself,  Lettice,  into  the  unnatural  position 
of  Mrs.  Trent's  defender! 

Something  in  her  face — some  grey  change  that 
for  the  moment  ages  and  disfigures  her — de- 
molishes Marie's  not  very  robust  resentment  at  her 
rebuke,  and  brings  her  back  to  kindliness.  This  is 
the  more  virtuous,  as  she  had  several  admirable 
shafts  still  left  in  her  quiver. 

"  Those  kind  of  people  are  all  alike,"  she  says  in 


FOES  IN   LAW  199 

a  tone  very  evidently  meant  to  be  conciliatory.  "  I 
think  he  is  uncommonly  well  out  of  them.  We  must 
all  try  to  cheer  him  up  as  much  as  we  can.  I  will 
get  him  to  recite  something  at  the  Performance." 

In  a  brighter  moment  Lettice  might  have  felt  a 
certain  disdainful  amusement  at  such  a  remedy  for 
such  an  ill;  but  now  the  picture  of  her  lover 
mouthing  on  a  stage  under  Mrs.  Trent's  instruc- 
tions puts  the  finishing  touch  to  her  discomfiture. 
Her  countenance  expresses  as  much,  and  under  this 
second  though  wordless  snub  the  repressed  wasp- 
ishness  breaks  out  again  in  Marie's  next  speech. 

"  Of  course  he  ought  to  have  more  backbone; 
but  if  God  has  not  given  you  as  many  joints  in  your 
spine  as  other  people,  why,  there  you  are!  I  sup- 
pose I  feel  it  more  strongly  from  having  been  used 
to  something  so  different." 

"  In  whom?  "  asks  Lettice,  in  a  dreadfully  polite 
voice,  and  with  a  mental  reference — of  which  her 
hearer  is  perfectly  and  irefully  conscious — to  the 
invertebrate  humility  of  Marie's  parent. 

"  In  Gabriel — in  my  brother,"  replies  she  with 
elaborate  distinctness,  the  benevolence  quite  gone 
out  of  her  brilliant  eyes,  and  a  desperate  challenge 
in  its  place. 

But  Lettice  does  not  pick  up  the  glove.  Gabriel! 
His  parting  words  are  suddenly  in  her  ears,  "  In 
happier  circumstances  we  should  have  been 
friends."  Towards  Marie  under  no  circumstances 
could  she  ever  have  felt  amity;  but  with  him — yes, 
it  might  have  been  possible. 

Mrs.  Trent  is  always  as  good  as  her  word;  in  the 
case  of  her  philanthropic  intentions  towards  the 
dejected  curate  she  is  even  better.     The  prepara- 


200  FOES   IN   LAW 

tions  for  what  Lettice  has  always  qualified  both  to 
herself  and  Chevening  as  the  desecration  of  the 
Rachel  Hall  are  already  in  full  swing.  The  plat- 
form whence  hitherto  only  Advocates  of  the  Tea- 
pot and  Purveyors  for  the  Waif  and  the  Savage 
have  been  heard  is  rapidly  being  turned  into  a 
stage.  A  temporary  Green-Room  is  beginning  to 
bulge  out  unbecomingly  behind  the  memorial  edi- 
fice, and  the  knocking  of  the  carpenters  is  loud  in 
the  land.  It  is  music  in  Marie's  ears,  a  music 
which  she  insists  on  every  one  whom  she  meets  in 
the  village  coming  in  to  hear.  The  vicar,  hurrying 
home  to  a  Confirmation  Class;  the  vicaress,  trot- 
ting to  congratulate  or  scold  a  new-made  mother; 
Mrs.  Fairfax,  stealing  past  with  her  deprecating 
gait; — all  are  swept  in  willy-nilly,  and  ordered  to 
admire,  to  suggest,  to  criticize.  Not  many  sug- 
gestions, it  is  true,  are  made,  and  still  fewer  taken; 
but  the  fact  of  having  their  opinion  asked  raises  the 
consulted  ones*  estimate  both  of  themselves  and 
their  patroness. 

Not  even  the  undisguised  disapprobation  of 
Lettice  is  able  to  abate  the  piquant  interest  taken 
by  Mrs.  Taylor  in  "  wings  "  and  **  flies,"  exits  and 
entrances. 

"  I  have  always  had  a  taste  for  the  stage,  I 
think,"  she  says,  and  she  has  not  the  grace  even  to 
be  apologetic;  "but  I  have  had  very  Httle  oppor- 
tunity for  gratifying  it." 

"  Are  you  going  to  take  a  part  in  the  per- 
formance? "  asks  Miss  Trent,  with  not  only  her  lip, 
but  all  her  other  features  curling. 

"Oh  no,  of  course  not!"  laughing  good- 
humouredly;  "  though  Mrs.  Trent  did  suggest  that 


FOES   IN    LAW  20I 

I  should  prompt.  She  wants  everybody  to  have  a 
share  in  the  fun;  but  I  should  be  too  nervous,  and 
I  should  always  come  in  at  th^  wrong  place,  and  I 
could  not  rely  upon  this  tiresome  head  " — touch- 
ing it  reproachfully. 

The  overflowing  joy  that  sets  the  doors  of  Mrs. 
Trent's  heart  open  to  all  comers  makes  her,  despite 
signal  previous  miscarriages,  essay  another  effort 
against  the  impregnable  fortress  of  her  sister-in- 
law's  hostility. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  do  not  quite  like  these  altera- 
tions," she  says  in  that  off-hand  voice  which,  as 
Lettice  might  by  this  time  have  learnt,  is  some- 
times the  vehicle  of  some  doubtful  overture;  *'  but 
as  soon  as  I  can  get  Jim  to  build  me  a  real  little 
theatre,  I  will  never  use  this  again." 

Miss  Trent's  only  answer  is  to  stand,  tall  and 
silent,  surveying  with  an  unspeakable  eye  the  chaos 
of  planks,  laths,  chips,  before  her.  She  has  been 
forced  into  the  Rachel  Hall  by  Jim,  who,  having  as 
usual  driven  Marie  down  to  that  scen-e  where  most 
of  her  life  is  now  spent,  intercepts  his  sister  passing 
by  with  averted  eyes  to  her  Cottage  Hospital,  and 
compels  her  to  come  in.  He  is  sorry  when  he  has 
done  it,  and,  what  is  more,  so  much  frightened  by 
the  expression  that  the  first  glance  at  the  improve- 
ments calls  up  on  Miss  Trent's  face,  that  he  feigns 
a  summons  from  one  of  the  workmen  outside,  and 
leaves  his  wife  to  face  the  uncubbed  lioness  whom 
he  has  brought  her  as  a  playfellow. 

Marie  is  as  nearly  undauntable  as  it  is  possible 
for  a  human  being  to  be;  but  at  this  moment  she 
is  not  in  the  best  fighting  trim.  She  has  apparently 
been  taking  an  active  part  in  the  carpentering 


202  FOES   IN    LAW 

operations,  for  she  looks  hot  and  flushed.  A  ham- 
mer is  in  one  hand,  and  a  paper  of  tin-tacks  in  the 
other;  her  garments  and  hair  are  thickly  pow- 
dered with  grey  dust,  and  there  is  a  good-sized 
smouch  of  whitewash  on  one  cheek. 

The  extremely  expressive  silence  in  which  Let- 
tice  receives  her  first  would-be  conciliatory  obser- 
vation, and  the  appalling  austerity  of  the  look  that 
stalks  witheringly  round  her  beloved  erections, 
make  even  her  valiant  spirit  quail.  She  steps  a  pace 
or  two  nearer,  swinging  her  hammer  nervously, 
and  lowering  her  sharp  voice. 

"  Jim  thinks  that  she — his  mother  " — with  a  very 
respectful  intonation — "  would  not  have  minded. 
He  said  she  liked  to  see  people  enjoy  themselves."' 

Miss  Trent's  lips  twitch  a  Httle.  "  It  is  a  point 
that  can  scarcely  be  proved,  so  it  is  no  use  dis- 
cussing it." 

The  words  perhaps  scarcely  bear  that  reading, 
but  none  the  less  do  they  carry  to  the  hearer's 
mind  the  impression  that  any  mention  by  her  of 
"  Jim's  mother  "  is  an  insult  to  that  departed  lady. 
With  a  quick  change  of  mood  she  brings  her  ham- 
mer down  with  a  vicious  tap  on  a  bench  near  her. 

"  After  all,  it  is  only  temporary;  all  this  " — wav- 
ing her  bag  of  tacks  theatrically  round  her — "  will 
disappear,  alas!  like  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  vision, 
and  when  the  S.  P.  G.'s  and  the  G.  F.  S.'s  and  the 
U.  E.  L.'s  come  back  they  will  never  suspect  to 
what  iniquitous  uses  " — scornfully — "  their  hall 
has  been  put." 

Miss  Trent  stoops  to  no  retort,  and  a  sudden 
draught,  which  tells  of  an  opened  door  behind 
them,  makes  a  happy  diversion  by  causing  both 


FOES   IN   LAW  203 

young  women  to  look  round.  It  is  Chevening  who 
has  entered. 

"  Come  in,"  cries  Mrs.  Trent,  allowing  her  voice 
to  regain  its  usual  pitch,  and  perfectly  regardless  of 
the  audience  of  amused  workmen.  **  You  are  just 
in  time  to  see  some  fur  and  feathers  flying.  Which 
do  you  back?  " 

The  curate  is  not  very  ready  with  his  answer, 
perhaps  because  it  is  a  point  upon  which  he  cannot 
decide  in  a  hurry,  perhaps  because  antipathy  to  its 
propounder  chokes  him.  He  gives  her  a  look  that 
his  fiancee  finds  undecipherable  as  he  answers  at 
last— 

"  I  prefer  a  masterly  inaction." 

"  Now  that  you  are  here,"  Mrs.  Trent  cries, 
seized  by  a  new  and  delightful  idea,  flying  towards 
the  stage  and  beckoning  to  him  to  follow  her,  "  we 
may  as  well  have  a  rehearsal  of  *  Ay,  Mate! '  You 
are  to  stand  here,  exactly  in  the  middle,  just  where 
this  knot  of  wood  is,  and  do  not  think  about 
'  Mate.*  Mate  is  somewhere  in  the  audience;  and 
you  are  not  to  saw  the  air  with  your  arms;  I  will 
show  you  the  right  kind  of  gesture." 

"  I  have  recited  before,  as  I  told  you,  at  Oxford," 
replies  he,  in  a  rather  offended  voice,  and  grudg- 
ingly obeying  her. 

"  And  you  think  you  know  all  about  it,"  retorts 
she,  brusque  but  good-humoured.  "  Well,  all  the 
same,  you  are  going  to  be  coached,  and  I  am  going 
to  coach  you." 

"  Not  to-day,"  he  answers,  averting  his  look 
from  the  little  dishevelled  beauty  gesticulating  her 
commands  from  the  stage  above  him,  and  directing 
it  tow^ards  the  departing  alternative,  who  is  in  the 


204  FOES   TN    LAW 

act  of  letting  in  another  draught  by  letting  herself 
out. 

Marie  makes  no  attempt  to  detain  him.  On  the 
contrary,  she  warmly  agrees. 

"  Not  to-day,  of  course.  You  had  better  hurry- 
up  " — with  a  glance  of  understanding  amusement 
and  possibly  compassion  in  her  eyes,  and  heaving 
a  sigh.  "  There  are  any  number  of  other  days  be- 
tween now  and  Easter,  alas!  " 

Randal  has  to  hurry,  for  the  pace  with  which 
Lettice  is  stalking  off  her  indignation  is  so  good 
as  to  make  the  small  start  in  time  she  had  got 
equfvalent  to  a  longer  one.  But  he  catches  up  the 
flying  fair  as  she  turns  into  the  lane  ofif  the  village 
street,  in  which  the  Cottage  Hospital  stands. 

She  turns  a  face  more  gracious  than  his  fears  had 
bid  him  expect  towards  him. 

"  How  did  you  know  that  I  was  there?  " 

The  infinitesimal  delay  before  he  answers,  "  In- 
stinct, I  suppose,"  undeceives  her. 

"  You  did  not  know  it?  "  she  says,  not  quite  so 
genially. 

"  No  " — rather  reluctantly — "  to  say  truth,  I  did 
not." 

"  Then  what  took  you  there?  " 

"What  indeed?  Idle  curiosity,  I  suppose — the 
morbid  wish  to  verify  how  far  destruction  and  bad 
taste  could  go." 

Her  conscience  cannot  approve  the  rancour  of 
the  reply,  nor  yet  the  feeling  of  soothed  satisfac- 
tion it  gives  her. 

"  What  is  this  '  Ay,  Mate,'  that  Marie  was  talk- 
ing about?  "  rejoins  Miss  Trent  after  a  moment,  in 
a  tone  of  dignified  curiosity. 


FOES   IN    LAW  205 

"  Oh,  that  " — carelessly — "  is  the  name  of  the 
thing  that  she  has  ordered  me  to  recite  at  the  Per- 
formance ** — with  a  sarcastic  accent  on  the  words. 

"  And  you  have  consented?  *' 

He  hesitates.  "  I  dislike  her  too  much  to  con- 
tradict her." 

"  So  you  are  going  to  obey  her  orders?  " 

He  does  not  enjoy  or  much  admire,  as  addressed 
to  himself,  the  tone  employed,  and  there  is  dogged- 
ness  mixed  with  the  apology  of  his  reply. 

"  I  thought,  and  think,  that  my  presence  on 
the  stage  might  raise  the  tone  of  the  whole 
show;  and  it  is  a  fine  thing — a  very  fine  thing — 
very  dramatic." 

There  is  undoubted  hankering  in  the  tone  of  his 
plea,  and  she  falls  ruminatingly  silent.  A  sort  of 
iu  qiwqiie  from  her  lover  recalls  her. 

"  I  was  surprised — more  than  surprised — to 
meet  you  at  the  hall.  What,  in  the  name  of  all  im- 
probability, took  you  there?  " 

"  Jim  caught  me  as  I  was  going  by,  and  made  a 
point  of  it.  He  has  always  been  very  good  to 
me. 

The  final  statement  sounds  irrelevant  and  flat 
in  Chevening's  ears,  and  his  speaking  features  ex- 
press as  much. 

"  I  was  exceedingly  touched  this  morning.  He 
met  me  on  the  stairs  and  said,  *  Old  Grant  has  had 
a  second  stroke.    No  one  ever  survives  a  third.'  " 

"  Why  on  earth  were  you  touched  at  that?  " 

"  Appleton,  of  which  Mr.  Grant  is  rector,  is  in 
Jim's  gift." 

"Oh!" 

"  It  was  his  way  of  conveying  to  me — ^you  know 


2o6  FOE^  IN   LAW 

he  always  hates  explanations — that  he  recognized 
— that  he  did  not  wish  any  longer  to  oppose " 

She  stops,  with  a  vague  chill  shrinking  from  the 
riveting  word  with  which  her  sentence  was  to  have 
ended.    He  lifts  his  straight  brows. 

"  Do  you  extract  all  that  out  of  one  fit?  " 

"  There  have  been  other  indications,"  she  says, 
wincing  a  little  under  the  light  sarcasm  of  his  tone. 
"  Straws  show  which  way  the  wind  blows.  He  has 
often  said  lately  that  *  It  is  astonishing  how  one's 
point  of  view  changes,'  and  that  '  One  must  let 
people  be  happy  in  their  own  way.'  '* 

Randal  breaks  into  a  bitter  little  laugh.  "  He 
has  chosen  a  strange  way  himself." 

"  Yes,  yes,"  she  answers,  for  once  impatient  of 
his  fleer;  "  but  do  not  let  us  go  over  that  again.  I 
want  to  tell  you  about  Appleton.  It  is  in  the  very, 
very  heart  of  the  country,  an  entirely  rural  popu- 
lation. It  can  hardly  come  under  the  head  of  an 
*  opening; '  but  will  you  take  it  if  he  offers  it  to 
you?  " 

They  have  reached  the  door  of  the  Cottage 
Hospital.  The  lane  in  which  it  stands  is  deep  in 
the  mud  of  a  clay  soil  and  of  February  fill  dyke; 
but  a  belated  snow  wreath  still  lies  under  the  north 
hedge  that  faces  it.  Chevening's  eyes  are  fixed 
upon  it. 

"I  have  done  with  'openings,'"  he  says  gloomily. 
"  With  you  beside  me,  what  does  it  matter  where  I 
am.f^ 

His  look  leaves  the  snow-patch  and  seeks  hers, 
which  for  the  moment  is  almost  as  cold.  A  mo- 
ment later  he  adds,  contradictorily  and  with  vio- 
lence— 


FOES   IN    LAW  207 

"  I  would  give  anything  in  the  world  to  get  away 
from  here;  but  " — with  a  smile  that  is  less  spon- 
taneous than  produced  to  meet  the  surprise  in  her 
face — "  we  must  wait  for  the  third  stroke." 

Mrs.  Trent's  over-eagerness  in  the  preparations 
to  celebrate  her  family's  advent  results  in  the  fact 
that  the  theatre,  with  its  adjuncts,  stands  complete 
in  tantalizing  perfection  while  yet  Lent  stretches, 
immense  and  meagre,  between  her  and  her  goal. 
To  bridge  the  gulf  in  some  degree  she  whisks  Jim 
ofif  to  London,  for  the  double  purpose  of  buying 
properties  and  hunting  up  recruits. 

The  problem  of  deciding  upon  what  the  play  is 
to  be  has  been  found  so  insoluble,  owing  to  the 
dispersion  of  the  intending  actors  and  the  hopeless 
differences  of  their  opinions  as  voluminously  con- 
veyed by  post,  that  a  change  in  the  programme  has 
been  found  necessary.  The  idea  of  a  regular  drama 
has  been  given  up,  and  a  "  Varieties  Entertain- 
ment," which  will  give  opportunities  for  the  gem  of 
the  Kergouet  talent  to  display  every  and  all  of  its 
facets,  is  substituted. 

Whether  "  Ay,  Mate,"  is  to  be  hitched  into  a 
place  amid  the  heterogeneous  display  Lettice  does 
not  stoop  to  inquire.  A  great  stillness  falls  upon 
the  house  when  its  noisy  little  mistress  is  tem- 
porarily withdrawn. 

"  Is  not  it  like  heaven — I  mean  the  peace  and 
silence?  "  asks  Lettice  of  her  lover,  as  she  hands 
him  his  cup  of  tea  in  the  morning-room  as  of  old. 

As  of  old,  the  sacred  chairs  stand  in  their 
hallowed  ugliness,  unoccupied  and  well  in  evi- 
dence; as  of  old,  the  bright-cheeked  Hoppner 
ancestress  smiles  white-snooded  from  above  the 


2o8  FOES   IN    LAW 

Adams  chimneypiece,  the  parrot  makes  a  sleepy 
noise  with  his  beak  under  his  Hght  covering,  and 
Miss  Kirstie,  muzzleless — but  that  she  has  been 
for  some  time  past,  ever  since  she  made  up  her 
sensible  Scotch  mind  that  Lulu  is  an  evil  that  must 
be  endured — sitting  in  prick-eared  expectation  of 
her  national  short-bread. 

"  I  have  made  the  housemaid  collect  all  those 
detestable  acting  editions  and  sweep  them  off " 

"  Into  the  dust-hole?  " 

"  No,  into  Mane's  boudoir.  Oh,  never  fear,  they 
will  emerge  again  soon  enough/*  After  a  pause, 
"  It  seems  incredible  that  I  could  ever  have  been 
fond  of  play." 

"  As  Jim  says,  one's  point  of  view  changes,"  he 
answers  dryly. 

But  after  a  day  or  two — a  day  or  two  of  de- 
pressed restlessness  which  she  cannot  explain — 
the  wave  of  peace  seems  to  flow  over  him  too. 
They  fall  insensibly  back  into  their  old  ways. 
Browning  reappears  on  the  scene;  Marcus  Aure- 
lius;  even  Thomas  a  Kempis  has  a  turn.  Once 
again  she  can  resume  her  discipledom,  and  look 
up,  an  attitude  for  which  of  late  she  has  seemed  to 
have  little  need. 

Lettice  might  think  that  the  pre-deluge,  pre- 
Marie,  pre-engagement  period  had  returned,  but 
for  an  all-important  difference.  She  tries  to  tell 
herself  that  that  difference  is  for  the  better;  tries 
to  lash  herself  up  to  some  measure  of  the  ardour 
that  had  inspired  her  first  abandonment.  But  even 
the  memory  of  it  seems  to  have  grown  irrecov- 
erably faint.  She  succeeds  in  deceiving  herself 
even  less  than  she  does  him;  and  that  that  is  but 


FOES   IN   LAW  209 

indifferently  is  proved  by  his  repeated  reproaches 
to  her  for  her  unresponsiveness,  her  passiveness. 
It  is  the  worst  that  he  can  accuse  her  of,  since  she 
never  resists.  Tired,  at  last,  of  his  upbraidings,  she 
defends  herself. 

"  I  do  not  think  you  have  much  to  complain  of," 
she  says,  stooping  her  burning  face  under  what 
feels  a  weight  of  shame  at  her  own  duplicity. 

Her  speech  at  least  stems  the  torrent  of  his 
complaints,  and  brings  a  startling  change  into  his 
key. 

*'  Shall  I  ever  forget  the  divine  surprise  of  that 
moment!  "  he  exclaims,  in  a  tone  of  rapt  reminis- 
cence. *'  You  who  had  always  been  so  stand-off, 
my  snowflake,  my  icicle!  After  that  I  knew  I  was 
safe;  that  you  were  mine  through  all  eternity. 
With  a  woman  like  you,  I  knew  what  it  implied — 
what  it  must  have  cost  you!  I  knew  that  for  me 
it  was  the  real  thing." 

The  real  thing!  Her  own  phrase,  whose  corners 
have  been  rubbed  off  with  incessant  use.  Then  it 
must  be  so.  It  must  be  the  real  thing.  But  if  so, 
what  can  the  mock  thing  be  like? 


CHAPTER  XVI 

The  Kergouets  have  arrived.  The  Lent,  which 
must  surely  this  year  have  had  a  hundred  and  forty 
instead  of  forty  days  in  it,  has  run  its  lean  race  at 
last,  and  Easter  has  blown  the  expected  Argosy 
into  happy  Mrs.  Trent^s  port  by  the  breath  of  an 
east  wind — fittest  breeze  in  Lettice's  opinion,  as 
being  most  disagreeable. 

Although  two  unexceptionable  and  well-turned- 
out  carriages  go  to  meet  them,  there  is  something 
in  their  arrival  that  irresistibly  reminds  one  of  a 
circus. 

Marie  herself  drives  Esmeralda  in  her  pony-cart, 
and  flourishes  up  to  the  door  twirling  her  white 
whip  in  triumph  like  a  mop,  and  singing  '*  See  the 
Conquering  Hero  comes  "  at  the  top  of  her  voice. 

The  omnibus  follows,  with  Sybil  driving,  Jim 
sitting  beside  her,  to  avert  the  certain  catastrophe 
which  her  startling  method  of  taking  corners  and 
shaving  gate-posts  must  otherwise  entail.  On  the 
roof  behind  these  are  Muriel  and  the  two  boys; 
Louis,  pale  with  nervousness,  clinging  to  the  rail, 
and  being  grossly  insulted  by  his  sister  for  his 
pusillanimity.  Inside,  the  profile  of  Kergouet  pere 
is  visible,  civil  and  drooping,  apologizing  by  its 
expression  to  the  coachman  for  having  been  turned 
off  his  box,  and  to  the  footman  for  intruding  on 
his  privacy. 

2ZO 


FOES   IN    LAW  211 

From  her  sitting-room  window  an  observer 
whose  delicacy  has  prevented  her  from  forcing  her- 
self on  the  first  raptures  of  the  arrival  notes  these 
phenomena.  Presently  that  observer's  eyes  cease 
to  serve  her,  since  the  pageant  fades,  but  then  her 
ears  come  into  play.  Large  and  thick  as  the  house 
is,  its  silence  is  abolished.  The  rout  seems  in  every 
portion  of  it  at  once.  Of  course,  they  can  bear  no 
delay  in  verifying  their  ungodly  gains — Marie's 
achievement.  She  has  never  hitherto  seemed  par- 
ticularly elated  by  it,  as  the  listener  must  grudg- 
ingly own,  but  now  she  can  evidently  not  bear  to 
delay  for  a  moment  the  exhibition  of  it. 

Yet  no;  they  are  not  giving  her  the  trouble  of 
showing  it  to  them,  they  are  showing  it  to  them- 
selves. Peals  of  laughter,  galloping  feet,  doors 
opened  and  banged  in  a  way  that  is  new,  and  must 
be  offensive  to  their  dignified  mahoganyhood;  the 
cry  of  joy  of  the  discoverer,  and  the  whine  of  the 
cuffed. 

By-and-by  the  increased  clamour  tells  Miss 
Trent  that  the  excursionists  have  invaded  her  pas- 
sage. Presently  feet  and  voices  reach  her  door, 
which,  after  a  slight  pause  and  the  sound  of  an 
ineffectual  remonstrance,  opens  wide,  and  reveals 
in  the  aperture  the  good-looking  bold  face  and  fig- 
ure of  Sybil,  with  her  family  echeloned  behind  her. 

"  I  told  her  to  knock,"  says  Esmeralda,  in  smil- 
ing apology,  which  yet  she  evidently  thinks  quite 
needless,  and  advancing  with  outstretched  hand,  in 
her  usual  happy  confidence  of  giving  and  receiving 
pleasure. 

Esmeralda's  eyes  are  generously  blacked,  and 
nothing  can  be  smarter  or  more  towny  than  she 


212  FOES   IN    LAW 

in  her  plenitude  of  white  furs  and  white  satin 
garnitures. 

Lettice  shakes  the  offered  hand  and  several  oth- 
ers, thinking  herself  fortunate  in  eluding  all  the  in- 
tended kisses  except  little  Frank's. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  find  you  here,"  says  the  actress, 
genially.  "  It  was  impossible  to  speak  two  con- 
nected words  to  any  one  at  the  wedding  " — with 
a  little  shrill  laugh.  "  We  are  seeing  the  house. 
How  splendid  it  is! — quite  one  of  the  'Stately 
Homes  of  England.*  '* 

Marie  is  standing  on  the  threshold;  she  never 
enters  her  sister-in-law's  domain,  nor  with  her  will 
would  her  family  have  now  done  so.  Is  it  fancy, 
or  is  it  possible  that  she  can  have  become  so  un- 
Kergoueted  as  to  wince  slightly  at  her  sister's 
phrase? 

"  Come,"  she  cries  with  a  little  accent  of  curt 
command,  "out  with  you!  If  we  spend  so  much 
time  on  the  house,  when  are  we  to  get  to  the 
theatre?  " 

The  magic  words  act  like  a  spell.  Muriel  drops 
the  photograph  she  is  handling,  and  Sybil  ceases 
making  the  mysteriously  infuriating  noises  which 
causes  Miss  Kirstie,  with  bristled  back  and  vol- 
leyed barks,  to  ask  herself  whether,  contrary  to  all 
experience  and  precedent,  a  telegraph  boy  can  be 
in  the  room? 

They  are  gone,  but  not  before  the  father  of  the 
flock  has  slidden  a  hesitating  apology  across  the 
door-mat. 

"These  terrible  children  of  mine!  You  must 
think " 

But  before  he  can  proceed  further  his  married 


FOES   IN   LAW  213 

daughter  has  hooked  her  arm  in  his  and  cantered 
him  off. 

Soon  after  that  silence  settles  down  again. 
They  must  have  snatched  tea  in  their  usual  Pass- 
over fashion,  for  in  half  an  hour  the  pony-cart  has 
come  round  again,  and  borne  away  Marie  and 
Esmeralda,  while,  guided  by  Jim,  the  rest  of  the 
party,  questioning,  exclaiming,  racing  one  another 
along  the  church  path,  set  off  for  no  doubtful  goal. 

They  are  very  very  late  in  returning,  Mrs.  Trent 
having  entirely  forgotten  that  she  had  invited  the 
vicar  and  Mrs.  Taylor  to  dinner,  and  it  is  nearly  nine 
o'clock  before  the  last  laggard  has  reached  the 
dining-room.  Can  there  be  one  missing  still,  or 
has  the  butler  miscalculated?  For  whom  is  the 
vacant  place,  instinctively  avoided,  beside  Lettice? 

She  does  not  spend  much  thought  on  it,  her 
attention  being  divided  between  throwing  cold 
water  upon  Mrs.  Taylor's  sotto  voce  ecstasies  and 
covertly  watching  Randal  and  his  method  of  deal- 
ing with  Esmeralda.  It  is  a  surprise  to  his  be- 
trothed to  see  him.  She  had  not  known  that  he 
was  coming.  Is  he  drawing  the  little  embodied 
volubility  beside  him  out  in  sarcastic  amusement 
— not  that  Miss  Poppy  Delafield  ever  needs  much 
drawing — or  is  it  merely  disapproving  endurance 
that  looks  out  of  the  eyes  continually  passing  in 
hostile  comparison  between  the  dazzling  original 
at  the  head  of  the  table  and  its  ludicrous  little  cari- 
cature at  his  side? 

"  She  looks  professional,"  says  Mrs.  Taylor, 
whose  gaze  has  been  wending  with  intense  interest 
from  one  to  another  of  the  strangers,  and  though 
the  adjective  may  sound  equivocal,  the  tone  in 


214  FOES   IN    LAW 

which  it  is  pronouncdd  clearly  shows  that  it  is 
meant  to  be  complimentary.  "  I  suppose  they 
must  always  touch  up  a  bit,  even  in  private  life." 

"  I  suppose  so." 

"  Does  the  Httle  boy  always  dine  as  late  as  this? 
Isn't  it  very  bad  for  him?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  know  " — rather  impatiently. 
"  I  suppose  he  always  did  at  the  foreign  hotels 
they " 

Her  sentence  is  never  finished,  cut  off  close  by 
the  knife  of  a  surprise.  There  is  a  stir  in  the  room; 
some  one  has  entered,  and  most  people  are  bound- 
ing off  their  chairs  and  racing  each  other  to  sur- 
round and  embrace  him.  In  a  moment  only  the 
Taylors,  Chevening,  and  Lettice  are  left  seated. 

"  Who  is  it?  "  asks  the  vicaress,  in  a  whisper 
made  loud  by  excitement,  not  of  Jim — he  has 
joined  the  gay  throng  of  welcomers — but  of  his 
sister. 

The  latter  answers  vaguely,  "  I — do  not  know." 
Then  chiding  herself  back  into  sense,  "  What  am  I 
saying?    It  is  Marie's  eldest  brother.'' 

The  hubbub  ends  at  last  in  the  new  arrival  being 
allowed  to  go  and  change  his  dress,  and  the  elated 
juveniles  ordered  back  to  their  seats  by  Marie. 

Miss  Trent's  eyes  are  returning  from  the  door  to 
which  they  have  escorted  one  from  whom  his  en- 
veloping family  have  entirely  hidden  her  when  they 
meet  in  pure  accident  those  of  her  betrothed.  The 
latter  are  examining  her  with  an  expression  of 
acute  surprise,  mingled  with  what  can't  be,  yet 
looks  like,  acute  displeasure. 

Dessert  is  reached  before  the  wayfarer  reappears, 


FOES   IN    LAW  215 

restored  to  the  level  of  the  rest  of  the  world  by  a 
bath  and  a  tail-coat. 

Marie  has  had  a  place  set  for  him  beside  herself, 
and  something  not  unlike  Mr.  Chevening's  un- 
accountable expression  darkens  her  blazing  sun- 
shine when  the  young  man,  quietly  ignoring  the 
fact,  drops  into  the  seat  which  has  been  vacant  all 
through  dinner  beside  Lettice. 

Nothing  can  be  more  colourlessly  courteous  than 
his  greeting;  and  yet  after  it  the  girl  knows  that, 
despite  the  Wall  of  China  which  his  family  had 
built  round  him,  he  had  been  aware  of  her  all  along. 

Several  moments  are  spent  in  vociferous  insist- 
encies on  the  part  of  the  hostess  that  he  shall  eat 
the  dinner  which  has  been  brought  back  for  him, 
and  equally  resolute,  though  calmer,  assurances  on 
his  part  that  he  will  not,  having  already  dined  in 
the  train. 

"  Is  that  true?  " 

This  is  Miss  Trent's  conversational  opening, 
which  she  did  not  find  in  any  book.  Her  voice 
is  not  quite  so  coldly  assured  as  it  usually  is  when 
adapted  to  the  use  of  Marie's  family;  but  the  con- 
sciousness that  two  pairs  of  hostile  eyes  are  fixed 
upon  her  gives  it  a  slight  tremor.  That  Marie 
should  be  annoyed  by  her  brother  preferring  Let- 
tice*s  neighbourhood  to  her  own  fills  the  former 
with  a  not  quite  Christian  pleasure;  but  that 
Chevening  should  be  assuming  silly  proprietary 
scowls  is  simply  and  unadulteratedly  annoying. 

"Why  shouldn't  it  be?" 

"  It  sets  one  at  such  a  disadvantage  to  be  eating 
soup  when  other  people  are  eating  sweetmeats,  that 
I  thought  you  might  prefer  the  pangs  of  hunger." 


2i6  FOES   IN   LAW 

He  shakes  his  head,  inwardly  congratulating 
himself  that  no  vulgar  claims  of  beef  or  mutton 
need  lessen  the  number  of  looks  that  he  may  count 
out  to  himself  at  the  high  perfection  beside  him. 
How  incompletely — though  he  has  thought  of  so 
little  else  since  they  parted — has  he  remembered 
her!  The  breeding,  the  pride,  the  exquisite  groom- 
ing,— memory  has  understated  them  all. 

Since  her  connection  with  the  Kergouet  family 
Miss  Trent  has  adopted  a  style  of  even  severer 
simplicity  than  before;  and  to-night  she  is  dressed 
in  the  very  gown,  or  its  fac-simile,  that  had  once 
awed  Chevening  with  its  note  of  rigid  virginity. 
Snowdrops  are  over,  so  in  that  respect  there  is  a 
falling  ofY;  for  the  lilies-of-the-valley  that  replace 
them  at  her  breast,  though  pure,  are  not  cold. 

Though  it  is  accident  that  has  placed  her  oppo- 
site Esmeralda,  choice  could  not  have  served  her 
better  for  the  enhancing  by  contrast  of  her  lofty 
charms;  and  as  Gabriel  answers  with  gentle  bro- 
therliness  the  stagily  affectionate  inquiries  and 
ejaculations  shot  across  the  flowers  at  him,  some 
door  in  his  heart  seems  to  shut  with  a  hopeless 
clang. 

"  You  must  be  surprised  to  find  me  still  here," 
says  the  cold,  low  voice  beside  him,  when  Esme- 
ralda's little  shrieks  allow  it  to  make  itself  heard 
again,  "  after  all  my  asseverations  to  the  contrary; 
but,  perhaps,  you  have  forgotten  that  I  did  asseve- 
rate." 

"  No,  I  have  not  forgotten." 

"  I  fully  meant  them. at  the  time;  but  afterwards 
—  soon  afterwards — circumstances  occurred — it 
seemed  hardly  worth  while  to  make  any  change." 


FOES   IN    LAW  217 

She  does  not  herself  comprehend  what  drives 
her  to  this  oblique  confession,  only  that  the  need 
is  there.  He  is  so  long  in  rejoining  that  she  looks 
up  half  angrily  at  him.  Ought  he  not  to  be  highly 
flattered  by  her  admitting  him  even  over  the  thres- 
hold of  her  confidence?  She  finds  his  eyes  riveted 
upon  Chevening,  who  for  the  moment  has  released 
them  from  his  surveillance,  and  is  answering  in  a 
sulky  voice  some  rowdy  joke  thrown  at  him  out  of 
her  abundance  by  Marie. 

Gabriel's  dark  head  veers  slowly  round.  "  It  is 
hef  " 

"  Yes." 

A  pause. 

"  Does  he  still  think  you  wanting  in  imagina- 
tion? " 

She  gives  a  slight  start.  "  You  remember  that 
too?  " 

"  I  remember  that  too." 

His  tone  makes  her  vaguely  uneasy.  She  harks 
back  to  his  question. 

"Why  shouldn't  he?  How  can  any  change  in 
our  relations  alter  my  deficiencies?  '* 

There  is  no  answer.  Gabriel  has  returned  to  his 
scrutiny. 

'' It  hioht  soon?'* 

"  I— I  hope  so." 

Her  lips  quiver  as  she  frames  the  lie.  But  it  is 
for  his  good. 

"  I  hope  you  will  be  very  happy." 

He  is  taking  it  just  as  he  should;  yet  the  calm 
goodwill,  which  an  iron  effort  has  driven  into  his 
face  and  voice,  makes  her  illogically  dissatisfied. 


2i8  FOES   IN   LAW       ^ 

"  Very  happy? "  she  echoes,  raising  the  thin 
gold-brown  line  of  her  eyebrows.    **  Who  is  thatf  " 

As  if  in  reply  to  her  question  a  peal  of  laughter 
from  Marie,  in  which  Jim's  voice,  with  that  new 
jollity  that  the  last  few  months  have  put  into  it 
joins,  rings  out.  There  comes  a  fraternal  smile  into 
Gabriel's  grave  eyes. 

"  Aren't  you  answered?  " 

"Ami?"— cavillingly. 

"  You  told  me  that  I  need  not  be  afraid  of  your 
spoiling  her  life?  " 

"  I  told  you  so  because  I  thought  I  should  not 
have  the  chance — because  I  thought  I  was  going 
away,"  she  answers,  in  haste  to  shake  off  the  en- 
comium which  she  is  conscious  of  so  Httle  merit- 
ing. "  If  I  have  not  spoilt  her  life,  well " — ^with  a 
nervous  laugh — "  perhaps  it  has  not  been  for  want 
of  trying." 

She  knows  his  face  too  little  to  decide  whether 
this  is  news  that  she  is  telling  him.  It  would  ,cer- 
tainly  be  better  taste  not  to  inquire;  and  she  has 
always  piqued  herself  upon  her  discretion,  yet 

"  Has  not  Marie  told  you  how  badly  we  have 
got  on?" 

It  needs  no  narrow  inspection  to  see  that  he 
hesitates. 

"  I  have  seen  her  so  seldom." 

"  She  might  have  written  it." 

"  She  might." 

"And  hasn't  she?" 

The  answer  comes  pointed  by  a  direct  look  that 
seems  pregnant  with  reproach. 

"  Since  she  married  she  has  never  once  men- 
tioned your  name  to  me." 


FOES   IN   LAW  219 

The  full  weight  of  her  own  bad  taste  pulls  Miss 
Trent's  chin  down  on  her  neck,  from  which,  be- 
cause the  Kergouet  necks  are  encumbered  with 
beads,  even  its  customary  string  of  real  pearls  is 
absent. 

"  It  is  right  that  she  should  excel  me  in  gen- 
erosity as  in  everything  else,"  the  girl  murmurs 
bitterly. 

He  does  not  at  once  rejoin,  sitting  silently  back 
in  his  chair.  She  thinks  that  it  is  a  just  indignation 
that  checks  his  speech.  In  point  of  fact,  he  feels 
that  if  he  let  himself  utter  at  all,  he  will  have  to 
tell  her  that  earth  has  never  shown  him  anything 
fairer  than  the  little  cheveux  follcts — carefully  re- 
strained from  being  too  follets — on  the  warm  nape 
of  her  stately  neck. 

When  he  has  at  last  convinced  his  lips  that  such 
expression  is  impossible,  they  consent  to  say — 

"  And  has  she  spoilt  your  life  too?  " 

The  relief  of  for  once  speaking  out  her  true  mind 
is  too  intense  for  Lettice  to  realize  the  exquisite 
unseemliness  of  choosing  her  present  hearer  as 
confidant.    Her  eyes  throw  out  sparks. 

"Absolutely!" 

With  this  pleasant  adverb  she  leaves  him. 

When  Miss  Trent  joins  the  little  group  of  inter- 
twined sisters  and  young  brothers  by  the  drawing- 
room  fire  she  finds  Esmeralda  firing  off  eager  ques- 
tions as  to  the  name  and  nature  of  her  late  neigh- 
bour at  dinner. 

"  If  it  had  not  been  for  his  waistcoat  I  should 
have  felt  sure  that  he  was  on  the  stage.  He  has 
such  an  actor's  face!" 

"  He  is  not  an  actor,"  replies  Marie,  seizing  as 


220  FOES  IN   LAW 

she  speaks  Sybil's  fingers,  and  extracting  from 
them  the  cigarette  which  that  young  creature  had 
just  filched  from  the  florid  cigarette-box;  *'  he  is 
a  curate — Mr.  Taylor's  curate — isn't  he,  Mrs.  Tay- 
lor?— curate  of  Trent;  but  he  will  not  always  be 
so." 

The  last  clause  is  given  with  a  faint  but  unmis- 
takable imitation  of  Chevening's  voice  and  manner, 
which  reveals  to  his  betrothed  that  she  has  not  had 
a  monopoly  of  his  confidences  as  to  his  future 
greatness,  but  has  shared  them  with  the  woman  for 
whom  he  has  always  professed  so  deep-rooted  a 
dislike. 

"  He  would  make  a  good  lover,"  continues  Es- 
meralda, with  professional  zest.  "  We  are  rather 
short  of  lovers  just  now.  From  the  look  of  him,  I 
should  think  he  could  take  Martin  Hervey's  parts; 
don't  you  think  so?  " — turning  with  the  civil  im- 
pulse to  include  her  in  the  talk  to  Lettice. 

The  confused  haste  with  which  the  latter  changes 
the  subject  brightens  the  twinkle  in  Marie's  eye 
which  her  own  malice  and  Esmeralda's  innocent 
blundering  have  lit  there. 

The  latter  gabbles  on  in  happy  ignorance,  de- 
lighted with  the  sound  of  her  own  voice,  with  her 
handsome  surroundings,  and  with  hearers  whom 
she  is  as  sure  of  pleasing  as  of  being  pleased  with. 

"  How  did  you  think  Gabriel  looking? "  she 
asks,  again  pointedly  addressing  Lettice,  with  a 
good-hearted  wish  that  the  ex-mistress  of  the 
house  shall  not  feel  out  of  it.  "  Did  you  know  he 
was  coming?  You  seemed  so  surprised.  Mr. 
Chevening — is  that  his  name? — asked  me  why  you 
looked  as  if  you  had  seen  a  ghost." 


FOES   IN   LAW  221 

"  I  did  not  know  that  he  was  expected;  Marie 
had  not  mentioned  it." 

"Hadn't  I?  "—nonchalantly.  "I  suppose  I 
thought  it  would  not  interest  you  much." 

Esmeralda  breaks  into  a  laugh.  "  Oh,  that  is  not 
fair,  is  it?    But  how  did  you  think  him  looking?  " 

"  I  am  afraid  I  did  not  think  about  it " — in 
amiable  tit-for-tat  response  to  Marie's  mimicry. 
Then,  with  a  faint  compunction  and  an  air  of  forced 
interest,  "  Has  he  been  ill?  " 

"  Not  ill — no ;  he  would  kill  me  for  saying  he 
was  ill.  He  will  never  allow  he  is  ill;  only  horridly 
overworked.  A  bank  is  sad  bondage,  particularly 
when  you  hate  sitting  on  a  high  stool  as  much  as 
he  does.  He  only  took  to  it " — turning  to  Mrs. 
Taylor  with  the  usual  expansive  candour  of  her 
family  as  to  their  private  affairs — "  because  he 
could  not  bear  to  be  a  burden  on  father,  and  there 
did  not  seem  to  be  any  other  opening.  Wasn't  it 
beautiful  of  him?  " 

Mrs.  Taylor's  cordial  "It  was  indeed!"  is 
scarcely  needed  to  set  the  happy  little  actress  off 
again. 

"  What  has  pulled  him  down  now  so  much — 
don't  you  think  that  he  looks  pulled  down? — is 
that  he  has  been  nursing  father  through  what  we 
all  think  must  have  been  influenza.  He  did  not 
breathe  a  word  of  it  to  any  of  us,  because  he  knew 
what  a  state  we  should  have  been  in.  Wasn't  it 
unselfish  of  him?  But  it  must  have  been  influenza! 
He  had  just  the  same  symptoms  as  Tiny  Villiers. 
How  do  you  think  father  looking?  Oh,  you  have 
never  seen  him  before.  How  do  you  think  him 
looking?  " — appeaUng  to  Lettice. 


223  FOES   IN    LAW 

Miss  Trent  is  spared  yielding,  as  it  is  to  be  hoped 
that  she  would  not  have  done,  to  the  temptation 
of  hinting  that  the  subject  is  one  upon  which 
neither  her  eyes  nor  thoughts  would  deign  to  em- 
ploy themselves,  by  the  interruption  of  piercing 
shrieks  of  laughter  from  a  distant  part  of  the  room, 
which  the  children  in  their  pilgrimage  of  investiga- 
tion have  lately  reached. 

"  What  have  they  got  hold  of  now?  '*  cries  Marie, 
who  has  hitherto  been  puffing  away  in  unusual  si- 
lence, whipping  as  she  speaks  her  feet  off  the  head 
of  the  fire-dog  on  which  they  have  been  resting, 
and  flying  to  the  scene  of  action.  "  Oh  " — begin- 
ning to  laugh  a  little  too,  but  taking  the  object  of 
ridicule  out  of  her  juniors'  hands — "  it  is  poor  old 
Lady  Clapperton's  photograph  in  her  Drawing- 
Room  gown." 

The  young  ones,  much  above  themselves,  try  to 
snatch  it  back,  shouting — 

"Oh,  do  let  me  have  another  look!  What  a 
neck  she  has  got — like  a  giraffe;  and  such  a  smart 
frock!  Isn't  it  just  like  the  coronation  robes  Miss 
Wilson  wore  in  Henry  the  Eighth?  " 

"  A  giraffe  in  coronation  robes!"  They  all  catch 
up  the  phrase,  and  repeat  it  with  volleys  of  derisive 
amusement;  even  little  Frank  lisping  it  as  well  as 
he  can  after  his  betters.  But  Marie  gets  tired  of 
the  joke. 

"  Come,  that  is  enough.  She  is  a  good  old  sort, 
and  I  will  not  have  her  made  fun  of  any  more." 

And  when  Marie  speaks  in  that  tone  they  know 
that  she  means  it.  Their  subsiding  mirth  coincides 
with  the  entry  of  the  men. 

The  vicar,  as  always  when  he  can't  sink  into  a 


FOES   IN    LAW  223 

seat  beside  his  wife,  makes  for  Miss  Trent,  but  his 
curate,  having  younger  legs  and  a  better  right  to 
the  post,  outstrides  him,  and  occupies  it. 

"  Which  of  you  has  been  so  amusing?  *'  he  asks, 
sitting  down  in  front  of  her  so  as  to  hide  her  from 
the  rest  of  the  party,  and  with  a  decisive  air  of 
monopoly  which  she  could  have  spared.  "  Have 
the  Kergouet  family  been  treating  you  already  to 
a  taste  of  their  professional  gifts?  '* 

"  They  have  been  sharpening  their  Green-Room 
wit  upon  dear  Lady  Clapperton,'*  she  answers;  and 
he  notices  that  her  face  is  still  discoloured  by  some 
strong  and  recent  emotion. 

"  And  the  new-comer — the  first  walking  gentle- 
man?   Is  he  worthy  of  his  family?  '* 

There  are  pleasanter  angles  for  conversation 
than  when  a  person  sits  down  bang  opposite  to 
you,  and,  with  elbows  on  knees  and  hands  gripping 
his  face,  favours  you  with  a  sight  of  the  whites  of 
his  eyes. 

Lettice  changes  her  attitude  slightly.  "  You 
will  be  able  to  judge  for  yourself." 

"Why  did  you  look  so  taken  aback  when  he 
came  into  the  dining-room?  " 

"  I  am  not  aware  that  I  did.** 

Her  tone  of  chill  displeasure  ought  to  have 
warned  him  that  he  has  gone  far  enough.  On  the 
contrary,  it  excites  him  to  a  further  display  of  un- 
wisdom. 

"  Then  why  did  you  change  colour?  ** 

She  gets  up.  "  If  this  catechism  has  any  mean- 
ing at  all,  it  is  an  insult!  '* 

Her  move,  if  any  one  is  at  leisure  to  notice  it, 
may  seem  motived  by  the  fact  that  Muriel  has  pro- 


224  FOES   IN   LAW 

duced  a  phonograph,  and  is  inviting  every  one  to 
speak  down  it.  Lettice  joins  the  group  gathered 
round  the  exhibitor  in  time  to  see  the  vicar  in  the 
throes  of  a  hopeless  struggle  to  find  something  to 
say,  every  idea  vanishing  when  invoked.  He  has 
finally  to  be  prompted  by  his  wife  to  a  flat  aspira- 
tion that  there  may  be  a  moon  on  the  night  of  the 
theatrical  performance. 

Mrs.  Taylor  follows  with  a  larky  one  for  an  an- 
nual repetition  of  the  gaiety,  and  each  person  in 
turn  pumps  up  a  platitude  or  a  flippancy,  accord- 
ing to  their  different  natures — alike  only  in  the 
invariable  difficulty  of  conception.  The  machine 
has  apparently  the  same  palsying  effect  as  an  ear- 
trumpet.  Even  the  Kergouet  fluency  is  congealed, 
and  with  the  melancholy,  Frenchified  Louis  the 
family  invention  runs  absolutely  dry.  He  tries  to 
retire  from  the  arena,  but  is  kept  there  by  the 
pinching  grip  of  a  sister  on  each  side. 

"Do  not  be  a  fool!"  cries  Sybil,  holding  his 
close-cropped  head  down  to  the  trumpet.  "  Say 
something — anything.  Come,  Til  tell  you  what  to 
say  " — ^bursting  out  laughing.  "  Say  Lady  Clap- 
perton  is  a  giraffe  in  coronation  robes !  " 

There  is  nothing  that,  in  the  position  he  at  pres- 
ent occupies,  Louis  Kergouet  would  not  say,  nor 
does  he  see  anything  objectionable  in  the  utterance. 
He  at  once  complies. 

"  Lady  Clapperton  is  a  giraffe  in  coronation 
robes,"  he  says  as  distinctly  as  he  can,  and  with  a 
strong  French  accent. 


CHAPTER   XVII 

"What  are  they  up  to  now?  Who  is  Lady 
Clapperton?  '* 

Miss  Trent,  turning  an  indignant  back  upon  the 
scene  of  ribaldry,  finds  herself  face  to  face  with 
Gabriel,  who,  having  been  finishing  his  cigar  in 
Jim*s  company,  has  only  just  entered  the  room. 
There  is  the  well-founded  anxiety  of  one  all  too 
versed  in  his  family^s  capabilities  in  the  young 
man's  tone. 

"  Lady  Clapperton  is  my  oldest  friend/*  replies 
Lettice,  pregnantly. 

He  has  time  for  a  flashed  thought  of  how 
infinitely  wrath  becomes  her;  of  how  different  its 
ensigns  are  in  her  to  what  they  are  in  his  own 
vociferous,  gesticulating  crew,  before,  with  an  in- 
articulate sound  of  annoyance,  he  hurls  himself 
upon  the  criminals.  All  four  have  made  a  peniten- 
tial exit  bedwards  before  he  returns. 

He  finds  Miss  Trent  seated  on  an  old-fashioned 
round  ottoman,  with  either  side  undefended.  Her 
owner  is  not  in  sight,  and  he  can  read  no  prohibi- 
tion in  the  grateful  blue  gaze  she  lifts  to  him. 

"  You  have  sent  them  to  bed?  " 

"  I  have  sent  them  out  of  the  room.  Far  be  it 
from  me  to  presume  to  say  that  I  have  sent  them 
to  bed.    They  never  go  to  bed." 

92$ 


226  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  Marie  never  goes  to  bed,"  rejoins  Lettice, 
gloomily. 

Both  ruminate  in  silence  upon  this  awful  state- 
ment for  a  moment,  then  Lettice  says — 

"  Perhaps  you  now  begin  to  understand  what 
I  meant  when  I  told  you  that  my  life  is  absolutely 
spoilt." 

The  conclusion  is  a  monstrously  exaggerated 
one  to  draw  from  such  premises;  even  he,  lost  as 
he  is  in  the  stupefaction  of  his  wonder  at  that 
astonishing  finish  to  which  all  the  beauty  to  which 
he  is  accustomed  seems  mere  sluttery,  shows  some 
protest  in  his  countenance,  though  his  tongue 
utters  none. 

"  I  have  no  intention  of  calling  upon  you  for 
sympathy,"  she  says,  with  that  dim  sense  of  being 
in  the  wrong  which  is  always  upsetting  to  the  tem- 
per. "  Under  the  circumstances,  it  would  be  an 
absurd  anomaly  that  you  should  show  nie  any.  I, 
merely  in  self-defence,  state  the  fact,  in  answer  to 
your  inquiries — I  should  not,  if  you  had  not  asked 
me,  as  you  did  at  dinner — that  my  whole  existence 
now  is  a  ceaseless  process  of  being  rubbed  the 
wrong  way." 

It  is  an  evening  of  comparisons.  At  the  dinner, 
to  which  she  has  just  alluded.  Miss  Trent  had 
wasted  many  moments  in  watching  the  cynical 
travel  of  her  fiance's  eyes  from  Esmeralda  to  Marie 
and  back  again.  She  feels  that  Gabriel  is  institut- 
ing a  like  comparison  between  herself  and  the  little 
"  strayed  reveller,"  who  is  looking  more  Bohemian 
than  ever  with  a  fool's  cap  out  of  a  cracker  on  her 
head — a  waggish  parting  token  from  little  Frank. 

"  There  is  nothing  more  deteriorating  to  the 


FOES   IN    LAW  227 

character,"  she  goes  on,  still  with  that  chafed  sense 
of  her  own  bad  taste  lending  defiance  to  her  voice. 
"  Do  you  think  that  I  am  not  aware  that  I  have 
deteriorated?  If  I  had  not,  should  I  be  now  talk- 
ing in  this  way  to  you?  " 

The  question  might  seem  a  dangerous  one,  in 
the  opening  it  affords  for  fervid  contradiction;  but 
Lettice  has  a  not  ill-placed  confidence  in  her  man. 
No  touchiest  pride  could  extract  a  compliment  out 
of  his  answer. 

"  You  spoke  in  much  the  same  tone  when  last 
we  met." 

"  Thank  you,"  she  says,  with  an  angry,  low 
laugh.  "  I  understand  the  implication.  I  have  not 
deteriorated  because  it  was  impossible." 

He  receives  this  foolish  utterance  in  silence;  not, 
as  she  imagines,  out  of  wisdom,  but  because  if  he 
speaks  he  knows  he  must  say,  *'  Go  on  being  angry; 
go  on  talking  nonsense;  and  let  me  go  on  looking 
at  you.    I  ask  nothing  better." 

"  You  told  me  that  it  would  come  all  right,"  she 
resumes,  in  that  key  of  anger — soft-spoken,  re- 
fined, but  acute — that  seems  to  lay  the  blame  of  her 
miscarriage  at  his  door. 

"Did  I?"  he  answers.  "Yes,  I  believe  I  did. 
But  then  I  was  acquainted  with  only  one  of  the  fac- 
tors in  the  case.  I  knew  Marie,  but  I  did  not  know 
you.    I  reckoned  without  my  host." 

The  words  are  needlessly,  oddly  harsh,  and  Miss 
Trent's  cup  runs  over.  She  cannot  guess  that  his 
only  alternative  from  implying  that  she  is  a  virago 
is  to  fall  at  her  feet.  And  this  is  the  ingrate  to 
whom  she  had,  with  such  considerate  delicacy, 
broken  the  fact  of  her  approaching  marriage! 


228  FOES   IN   LAW 

"I  understand,"  she  answers  in  a  deeply  wounded 
tone.  "  It  is  the  same  with  every  one.  The  two 
conventional  figures  pitted  against  each  other,  the 
innocent,  suffering,  injured  angel  and  the  malevo- 
lent fiend.    All  the  appreciation,  all  the  allowances, 

all  the  sympathy  for  her,  while  for  me "    Her 

voice  snaps  off  short. 

A  pause. 

"  Is  there  none  for  you?  " 

"  None." 

He  waits  a  moment  or  two  till  he  can  feel  him- 
self pretty  well  in  hand,  yet  his  words  flock  out  at 
last  in  a  good  deal  less  measured  march  than  he  had 
intended. 

"  You  are  wrong.  When  I  see  you  here  sur- 
rounded by  us,  I  can  quite  understand  how  you  are 
counting  the  moments  till  your  release." 

She  gives  a  slight  start,  and  flashes  a  search- 
light upon  him  to  see  whether  he  has  any  arriere 
pensee  in  his  words.  But  a  glance  assures  her  to 
the  contrary.  Counting  the  moments  till  her  release! 
He  who  can  credit  her  with  that  is  no  conjurer. 

3|C  3|€  3^  ^  ^  9|C 

It  is  a  gay  cavalcade  that  enters  Trent  church 
next  morning,  really  not  very  long  after  the  bell 
has  ceased.  The  Kergouets  are  generally  not 
strong  in  church-going,  less  from  intentional  neg- 
lect than  from  an  innate  inability  to  be  ever  ready 
in  time  for  anything.  But  to-day  excitement  and 
curiosity  have  torn  them  out  of  bed  at  an  un- 
heard-of hour,  have  sent  the  four  children  expatiat- 
ing about  the  gardens  and  stables  while  the  April 
sun  is  still  in  his  infancy,  and  are  now  driving  them, 


FOES  IN   LAW  229 

clad  in  their  liveliest  clothes — and  that  is  saying  a 
good  deal — up  the  aisle  of  Trent  church. 

The  eyebrows  of  his  family  express  an  un- 
disguised surprise  at  finding  their  elder  brother 
already  there,  the  only  other  occupant  of  the  pew 
being  Lettice.  He  and  she  are  at  opposite  ends 
of  it.  The  embryo  disposition  shown  by  the  young 
ones  to  scuffle  for  the  seat  next  Gabriel  is  imme- 
diately quelled  by  him,  as  is  the  superfluous  rust- 
ling and  fidgeting  with  which  their  opening  devo- 
tions are  accompanied. 

Glory  has  its  drawbacks,  and  the  distinction  of 
occupying  the  front  seats  is  perhaps  dearly  bought 
by  the  inability  to  see  any  member  of  the  con- 
gregation except  Mrs.  Taylor,  who,  by  being  par- 
allel, is  sidelongly  visible;  but,  having  been  seen, 
gauged,  and  found  wanting  overnight,  is  a  poor 
substitute  for  the  hats  and  faces  tantaHzingly 
guessed  at  behind. 

There  is  in  compensation,  indeed,  a  near  and 
admirable  view  of  the  officiating  clergy,  the  noun 
in  this  case  becoming  virtually  a  singular  one,  since 
the  vicar  receives  about  as  much  attention  as  his 
spouse.  There  is  also  a  good  deal  of  interesting 
reading  on  the  seventeenth  and  eighteenth  century 
monuments  in  the  chancel,  and  more  recondite 
study  of  the  early  English  sentence  that  runs  below 
the  stained  window  to  the  late  Mr.  Trent's  memory 
overhead. 

Mr.  Trent's  daughter  has  resolved  that  her  Sun- 
day quiet  and  Sunday  charity  shall  not  be  tested  by 
witnessing  the  entry  of  the  group  of  "  strolling 
players  "  with  whom  Fate  has  connected  her.  She 


230  FOES  IN   LAW 

has  to  this  end  set  off  earlier  than  her  wont,  but 
she  cannot  quite  escape  the  family. 

As  she  issues  from  the  side  door  she  sees  the 
elder  Kergouet  and  his  son  pacing  slowly  ahead  of 
her  in  the  aimless  enjoyment  of  cigarettes,  fresh 
air,  and  loafing.  The  parent  is  leaning  on  Gabriel's 
arm,  and  there  is  an  indefinable  air  of  friendship 
and  good  understanding  about  both  their  backs. 

At  the  sound  made  by  the  door  clanging  behind 
Lettice  both  men  turn,  and  after  a  moment's  hesi- 
tation, during  which  the  elder  drops  his  son's  arm 
and  a  frightened  look  creeps  over  his  face,  they 
come  forward  to  meet  her. 

"  You  are,  like  us,  tempted  out  by  the  beauty  of 
the  morning,"  says  Mr.  Kergouet — he  has  long 
dropped  that  military  prefix,  which  can  have  noth- 
ing but  disagreeable  associations  for  him — speak- 
ing with  uneasy  elaborateness.  "  We  are  revelling 
in  the  purity  of  your  air.  Oh  '* — with  a  nervous 
glance  that  takes  in  the  Sundayness  of  her  tout 
ensemble — "  I  see  that  you  are  on  your  way  to 
church.  Might  we  be  allowed  to  accompany  you 
part  of  the  way?  " 

There  is  nothing  that  Miss  Trent  wishes  less  than 
to  be  seen  entering  or  approaching  her  parish 
church  under  the  convoy  thus  offered;  yet  she  an- 
swers civilly  enough — 

"  Certainly,  if  you  feel  inclined.  It  is  rather  a 
pretty  walk  across  the  park." 

Once  before  has  she  seen  the  same  look  oi 
mixed  apprehension,  command,  and  entreaty  in 
Gabriel's  dark  eyes;  then,  as  now,  she  had  obeyed 
it.     Her  virtue  has  its  reward. 

"  I  am  not  going  to  have  you  on  my  hands 


FOES   IN   LAW  231 

again,"  says  the  young  man,  in  a  tone  of  protecting 
caressingness  which  takes  all  roughness  out  of  the 
words.  "  At  this  rate  you  will  knock  yourself  up 
before  the  day  is  half  over.  You  had  better  take 
it  easy,  and  " — with  a  flashed  glance  at  her — "  I  am 
sure  Miss  Trent  will  excuse  you." 

Miss  Trent  tries  not  to  put  too  much  willingness 
into  h€r  endorsement  of  this  dismissal;  and  Mr. 
Kergouet's  is,  perhaps,  not  an  inferior  effort  to  dis- 
guise his  relief  as  he  sets  off  homewards. 

Gabriel  lingers.  "  May  I  walk  a  few  yards  with 
you?  or  would  you  rather  I  did  not?  " 

She  must  make  some  assenting  motion  with 
head  or  hand,  for  the  next  minute  they  are  stepping 
it  side  by  side  towards  the  as  yet  silent  church 
tower.  Neither  utters  at  first.  Speech  lends  itself 
better  to  complaint  or  aspiration  than  to  the  ex- 
pression of  still  well-being. 

With  the  man,  at  least,  to-day  it  is  deeply  well 
— in  the  possession  of  this  to-day,  that  has  scarcely 
a  yesterday,  and  certainly  not  a  to-morrow.  To- 
morrow, as  y^esterday,  there  will  be  the  meagre 
life  of  self-repression  and  self-sacrifice,  the  life  of 
warding  off  pain  from  and  concocting  pleasures 
for  others.  To-day  there  is  the  clear  blue  ether, 
the  glazed  buttercups,  the  pushing  verdure  impa- 
tient of  sheath  and  calyx,  the  sunshiny  aloneness 
with  the  woman  loved, — all,  not  for  somebody  else, 
but  for  him! 

To  her  he  leaves  it  to  break  the  charm  of 
that  bright  silence,  which  in  a  tete-^tete  spells 
intimacy. 

"  You  think  me  a  very  great  shrew.  You  are 
always  expecting  me  to  insult  some  one." 


232  FOES   IN   LAW 

She  says  it  half  upbraidingly,  yet  as  one  whose 
conscience  is  not  absolutely  clear. 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  was  afraid  you  were  going 
to  snub  my  father?  "  he  answers,  with  a  direct  re- 
sponse to  her  thought  that  she  finds  embarrassing. 

"  Ye-es." 

His  momentary  pause  shows  her  how  true  had 
been  her  intuition. 

"  I  thought  that  you  probably  did  not  realize 
how  weak  his  spirits  always  are,  and  how  ill  he  has 
been." 

A  rather  rueful  tenderness  pierces  through  a 
tone  meant  to  be  wholly  matter-of-fact;  and  Let- 
tice's  cheek  burns  at  having  obtained  as  well  as 
merited  the  oblique  reproach  which  she  had  asked 
for.  It  is  never  too  late  to  mend.  She  will  sit  by 
Mr.  Kergouet  at  luncheon,  offer  him  pine  lozenges 
for  his  cough,  and  try  to  pay  him  compliments  as 
flat  as  his  own.  It  is  in  this  meritorious  frame  of 
mind  that  Miss  Trent  nears  the  church,  now  fling- 
ing the  poignant  gladness — ineradicably  sad — of 
its  Easter  bells  over  the  heads  of  the  gathering 
flock. 

The  gate  in  the  park  palings,  which  opened  will 
make  her  one  of  them,  is  reached,  and  Lettice 
pauses. 

"  Are  you  coming  to  church?  "  she  asks. 

It  never  occurs  to  him — so  much,  at  least,  of  the 
Kergouet  remains — that  the  weekdayness  of  his 
clothes  can  breed  the  dissuasion  he  suspects  in  her 
eyes. 

"  Mayn't  I?  " 

*'  It  is  not  my  house  that  I  should  give  or  refuse 
you  leave  to  enter,"  she  answers,  with  that  half- 


FOES   IN    LAW  233 

priggish  gravity  which  he  thinks  so  beautiful; 
while  an  earnest  hope  that  Randal  may  be  putting 
the  finishing  touches  to  his  sermon  or  be  already 
safely  boxed  up  in  the  vestry  crosses  her  perturbed 
mind. 

She  had  not  seen  Chevening  again  after  their 
brush  on  the  previous  evening;  he  had  apparently 
been  too  much  upset  by  it  to  remain  till  the 
break-up  of  the  party,  and  must  have  gone  home 
in  a  frame  of  mind  which  she  does  not  care  to  dwell 
upon. 

Throughout  the  service  she  is  haunted  by  an 
odious  fear  that  he  may  be  going  to  preach  at  her 
again.  The  telling  herself  that  it  will  be  difficult 
to  drag  invective  and  reproach  into  the  joy  and 
exultation  that  befits  an  Easter  Day  discourse  is 
the  only  thing  that  supports  her  at  all;  and  it  is 
with  a  feeling  of  long-breathed  rehef  that  she  finds 
herself  safely  in  the  church  porch  without  having 
had  her  ears  wounded  by  one  sentence  that  could 
have  any  possible  application  to  herself  or  to  their 
quarrel. 

"  What  a  splendid  sermon!  "  cries  Esmeralda,  as 
the  prism-coloured  party  from  the  Hall  re-enter 
the  park,  followed  by  the  overt  admiration  of  the 
schoolchildren,  and  the  more  covert,  but  not  less 
acute,  interest  of  the  adults.  "  And  how  wonder- 
fully good  his  business  is — I  mean  " — correcting 
herself — "  his  action,  his  gestures.  He  must  have 
had  lessons  from  an  actor,  I  am  sure,  hasn't  he?  " 

"Has  he?"  asks  Marie,  tossing  the  question 
lightly  on  to  the  preacher's  owner. 

"  Not  that  I  know  of.  I  certainly  hope  not," 
replies  she,  hastily.    Then,  conscious  that  Gabriel 


2$4  FOES,  IN   LAW 

is  too  near  for  her  to  be  able  to  snub  his  family 
comfortably,  she  adds,  "  I  mean  the  two  professions 
are  so  different,  that  what  would  be  suitable  for  the 
one  would  be  most  inappropriate  to  the  other." 

"  Of  course,  of  course,"  returns  Esmeralda, 
dimly  aware  that  she  has  said  the  wrong  thing,  and 
in  an  amiable  hurry  to  repair  it;  "  but  it  is  not  only 
his  action  that  I  admired.  He  is  so  wonderfully 
eloquent — says  such  beautiful,  touching  things." 

"  We  have  had  nothing  but  brimstone  all 
through  Lent,"  says  Marie,  with  that  glint  in  her 
eye  which  Lettice  has  learnt  to  know  as  always  ac- 
companying a  reprisal  of  some  sort,  and  which  she 
now  recognizes  as  the  tit-for-tat  of  her  own  hit  at 
the  stage.  "  The  swells  have  been  getting  it  so 
hot  that  it  is  a  thousand  pities  none  of  them  were 
there  to  hear  it,  unless  you  count  us." 

She  laughs,  as  if  there  was  something  inherently 
ridiculous  in  the  idea  of  the  Trent  household  com- 
ing under  the  category  indicated,  and  her  family 
innocently  join.    The  shaft  has  been  well  planted. 

It  has  been  impossible  to  Lettice  not  to  be  aware 
that  the  extreme  virulence  of  Chevening's  Lent 
denunciations  of  the  rich  and  great — their  surface 
benevolence,  their  real  selfishness,  their  dram- 
drinking  philanthropy  and  their  profound  callous- 
ness— has  dated  from  his  own  rebuff  at  Swyndford; 
nor  has  his  discourse  to-day,  though  in  a  quite  dif- 
ferent vein,  pleased  her  better.  It  has  sounded  in 
her  ears  unreal,  shallow,  sugary.  She  tries  to  drop 
a  Httle  behind  in  order  to  chew  the  cud  of  the  bitter 
wonder  whether  it  is  in  herself  rather  than  in  the 
style  of  her  lover's  oratory  that  the  change  lies, 
but  Esmeralda  defeats  her  intention.    The  good- 


FOES   IN   LAW  235 

hearted  little  creature  sees  that  something  has 
drawn  a  plait  on  Miss  Trent's  white  forehead,  and 
she  sets  her  simple  wits  to  remove  it. 

"  You  do  not  know  what  a  pleasure  it  is  to  us  all 
to  see  the  wonderful  way  in  which  Marie  has  taken 
to  her  new  life.  I  really  think  she  has  not  a  regret. 
It  shows  how  good  you  have  all  been  to  her.  Tiny 
Villiers  said,  *  She'll  never  stand  it;  she'll  be  back 
in  six  months.'  I  shall  write  and  tell  her  what  a 
mistake  she  has  made." 

The  speaker  pauses,  as  if  expecting  some  sign  of 
approval;  but  as  none  comes  she  flows  on  happily, 
her  mind  as  unable  to  keep  for  two  minutes  off  its 
habitual  track  as  the  dyer's  hand  to  lay  aside  its 
indigo. 

"  What  a  beautiful  place  for  a  pastoral  play  this 
would  be — really  far  better  than  Combe  Wood. 
The  orchestra  might  be  hidden  away  there  among 
the  trees,  and  that  dip  in  the  ground,  with  the 
banks  rising  gently  round  it  like  an  amphitheatre, 
seems  made  for  the  audience.  Oh,  Mr.  Chevening, 
I  never  saw  you  coming!  We  were  just  discussing 
your  sermon.  Aren't  you  dying  to  know  what  we 
said  about  it?  " 

She  shoots  a  look  of  stage  coquetry  at  him  out  of 
her  blacked  but  harmless  eyes,  and  then,  having 
been  evidently  posted  as  to  the  state  of  affairs,  trips 
off  to  join  the  others. 

"  Is  it  true?  " 

"  Is  what  true?  " 

"  What  that  little  marionette  said  about  your 
discussing  my  sermon." 

Lettice  is  looking  straight  before  her.  If  Ran- 
dal has  forgotten  his  overnight  crime,  she  has  not. 


236  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  Miss  Kergouet  was  expressing  her  great  ad- 
miration for  it." 

"  And  Miss  Trent?  " 

"  There  was  no  need,  no  room  for  me  to  say  any- 
thing." 

"  And  is  there  no  need  now,''  he  asks  almost 
indignantly — "  now  to  tell  me  what  I  am  thirsting 
to  hear,  that  the  lapse  of  sympathy  which  I  have 
felt  between  us  all  through  Lent  is  exchanged  for 
that  oneness  of  thought  and  aspiration  which  we 
once  shared?  " 

"  Do  you  mean,"  she  answers  dryly,  '*  did  I  like 
your  sermon?  "  Then,  as  he  is  too  much  taken 
aback  to  respond,  "  Judging  from  your  last  night's 
implication,  you  cannot  think  my  opinion  upon  it 
vrorth  having." 

It  gives  her  no  pleasure  to  quarrel  with  him,  as 
it  would  were  she  in  love;  but  she  owes  it  to  her- 
self— a  phrase  which  people  invariably  employ 
when  they  wish  with  a  clear  conscience  to  be  dis- 
agreeable to  their  acquaintances — not  to  let  his  in- 
sult pass  unnoticed. 

"  Is  it  possible  that  you  are  still  resenting  that 
wretched  little  spurt  of  irritation? "  he  asks  in 
angry  wonder.  "  Was  it  worth  a  second  thought, 
much  less  a  whole  night's  brooding  over?  Is  it 
likely  that  I  should  be  really  jealous  as  to  one  who 
had  given  herself  heart  and  soul  to  me  with  the 
generous  abandonment  you  did — and  jealous  of  a 
Kergouet?  " 

Lattice  cannot  speak.  Will  he  never  let  her  hear 
the  last  of  those  dreadful  kisses?  and  even  if  he  did, 
would  his  silence  destroy  the  fact  of  their  having 
been  given — destroy  the  impassable  barrier  that  by 


FOES   IN   LAW  237 

them  she  has  erected  between  herself  and  all  other 

created  men  save  only  this  one? 

♦       ^    *  *  ,*  *  * 

"We  must  have  a  rehearsal  of  'Ay,  Mate!'" 
says  Marie,  at  luncheon,  in  a  voice  of  imperious 
gaiety.  "  No  time  before  the  school?  Stuff  and 
nonsense!  it  does  not  take  twenty  minutes.  You 
know  I  timed  you  yesterday.  Esmeralda  is  dying 
to  hear  it.  She  is  sure,  from  your  *  action  '  in  the 
pulpit,  that  you  must  have  had  lessons  from  an 
actor." 

The  young  clergyman's  clear  pale  skin  shows  a 
faint  red. 

"  Isn't  that  rather  a  left-handed  compliment?  " 

"  It  isn't  a  compliment  at  all,  right  or  left,"  re- 
plies she,  bluntly;  "  but  we  must  just  run  through 
it.  You  are  rather  inclined  to  drag  when  they  are 
bringing  the  child's  body  up  the  shaft." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Mrs.  Trent  has  her  way; 
and  though  later,  when  they  have  adjusted  their 
differences,  Chevening  assures  his  betrothed  how 
very  much  d  contre-coeur  has  been  his  acquiescence, 
yet  it  is  with  no  overt  appearance  of  unwillingness 
that  he  follows  his  hostess  and  her  sister  to  the 
music-room,  whence  poor  Miss  Kirstie  is  soon 
heard  being  chucked  out  for  having  mistakenly 
tried  to  set  the  mining  tragedy  to  a  suitable  ar- 
rangement of  howls. 

The  rest  of  the  party  lounge  about  in  the  hall  for 
a  few  moments  before  separating. 

"What  is  *Ay,  Mate!'?"  asks  Gabriel,  ap- 
proaching, with  an  inward  benison  upon  his  sister, 
the  forsaken  fair. 

"  It  is  a  piece  which  Mr.  Chevening  is  going  to 
recite  at  the  Performance^ 


238  FOES  IN  LAW 

She  can't  resist  giving  the  last  two  words  in 
ironical  italics. 

"  Is  it  all  as  grisly  as  the  specimen  Marie  gave 
us?" 

Her  ringless  hand — the  fingers  of  his  own  female 
belongings  are  laden  to  the  knuckles — is  propping 
her  cloudy  face.    She  drops  it  to  answer  him. 

"  I  do  not  know." 

"  You  have  not  heard  it?  " — ^with  a  surprise  he 
cannot  hide,  and  a  pleasure  he  does  not  try  to  ac- 
count for. 

"  No."  After  an  instant's  pause,  "  I  thought  I 
should  be  less  nervous  on  the  Day  if  I  did  not  know 
what  was  coming." 

The  sentence  identifies  her  with  Chevening's 
success  or  failure;  and,  of  course,  in  the  circum- 
stances nothing  can  be  more  proper  and  natural. 
Neither  of  them  knows,  therefore,  why  Gabriel 
asks — 

"  Shall  you  be  very  nervous?  " 

She  answers  with  a  stiff  generality.  "  Do  you 
think  that  it  is  ever  pleasant  to  hear  any  one  break 
down?  " 

The  young  man  is  saved  the  trouble  of  rejoining 
by  the  approach  of  his  father. 

"  I  am  in  despair  at  interrupting  you,"  says  the 
latter,  with  an  apprehensive  side  look  at  Lettice; 
"  but  our  host " — never  in  the  sister's  hearing  can 
Mr.  Kergouet  bring  himself  to  speak  of  his  son-in- 
law  as  Jim — "  our  host  has  suggested  a  visit  to  the 
farm;  and,  great  as  the  treat  would  be  to  me,  I  am 
afraid  I  scarcely  dare  venture  upon  the  walk  with- 
out the  help  of  your  arm." 


CHAPTER  XVIir 

Several  times  during  the  next  day  Lettice  finds 
herself  wondering  whether  Gabriel  must  not  wish 
that  he  had  not  an  arm  at  all,  either  literal  or 
figurative,  so  incessant  and  universal  are  his  fami- 
ly's claims  upon  it.  His  father's  late  influenza  has 
apparently  hung  that  unlucky  gentleman  as  a  con- 
tinuous ornament  upon  it.  Whenever  Sybil  is  not 
grabbing  it  to  force  its  owner's  attention  as  umpire 
to  some  clamorous  dispute,  Louis  is  laying  a  tim- 
orously ireful  hand  upon  it  in  protest  against  the 
unspeakable  humiliations  to  which  his  sisters  sub- 
ject him.  Marie's  decided  hooking  of  her  own  into 
it  disposes  of  all  other  claimants  except  her  father; 
and  they  acquiesce — not  quietly,  for  they  never  can 
do  anything  quietly,  but  as  in  the  inevitable,  such 
as  bills,  bruises,  torn  clothes — ^in  her  superior 
claims. 

It  is  his  one  holiday — the  Easter  Monday  which 
releases  him  from  his  stool  and  his  ledger,  and  Miss 
Trent  divines  how  deep  must  be  his  longing  to 
spend  every  minute  of  it  out-of-doors  in  the  large 
rapture  of  enjoyment  that  the  common  air,  the 
common  sights  of  the  country,  breed  in  the  city 
pent.  Yet  there  is  not  a  sign  of  disappointment 
in  look  or  voice  when  he  finds  that  he  is  to  spend 
the  whole  of  it  inside  the  Rachel  Hall — a  name  now 

239 


240  FOES   IN   LAW 

sunk,  to  Lettice's  mixed  indignation  and  relief — in 
that  of  "  the  Theatre." 

The  day  of  "  the  Performance  "  is  alarmingly 
near,  considering  the  state  of  forwardness  of  the 
preparations — a  condition  of  things  unavoidable 
until  the  arrival  of  the  actors.  Now  that  they  are 
here  the  justice  of  Marie's  fiat,  that  the  whole  day 
and  every  day  shall  be  spent  in  rehearsing,  is  not 
disputed.  Though  the  sun  is  sending  through  win- 
dows and  doors  invitations  worthy  of  Italy,  such  a 
sharp  eye  is  kept  upon  stragglers  that  not  one  de- 
faulter has  to  be  accounted  for  when  the  final  scene 
reaches  the  end  of  its  first  rehearsal — hopeless  as 
first  rehearsals  always  are. 

Gabriel  has  never  attempted  to  straggle. 
Through  the  long  day  he  has  coached,  and 
prompted,  and  criticized;  quelled  Muriel's  gig- 
gling attempts  at  gag,  and  quenched  Sybil's  horse- 
play. His  behaviour  through  the  petty  trials  of 
the  day  gives  a  spectator,  sitting  on  a  reversed 
box  halfway  down  the  hall,  a  glimpse,  as  through 
a  wall-chink,  into  what  his  life  has  been.  That 
spectator  is  surprised  to  find  herself  there. 

"  You  are  not  coming?  "  Gabriel  has  asked  her, 
when  the  general  tohu-bohu  of  the  morning's  set- 
ting ofif  has  given  him  a  moment's  freedom  from 
his  family,  glancing  at  the  hopeless  indoorness  of 
her  hatless  head.    She  shakes  it. 

"You  do  not  know  the  history  of  the  Rachel 
Hall — of  what  is  now  called  the  Theatre?  " 

"  No.    Is  it  anything  disagreeable?  " 

In  his  tone  there  is  a  touch  of  patient  expecta- 
tion of  annoyance,  and  she  feels  ashamed  of  having 
unnecessarily  raked  up  her  grievance  to  prick  him 


FOES   IN   LAW  241 

with.  Yet  she  says,  "  You  had  better  ask  Marie," 
and  he  leaves  her. 

Her  seat  on  the  reversed  box  later  in  the  day  is 
Miss  Trent's  amende. 

Mrs.  Taylor  has  a  box  too — a  box  which  she  is 
continually  shifting  to  different  distances  from  the 
stage,  having  been  seized  upon — a  most  willing 
capture — by  Marie,  and  deputed  the  task  of  judg- 
ing of  the  audibility  or  non-audibility  of  the  per- 
formers in  different  parts  of  the  house.  She  is  able 
to  give  a  most  satisfactory  report;  and,  indeed,  the 
not  being  easily  heard  is  a  weakness  that  can  never 
have  been  attributed  to  the  Kergouet  ladies. 

To  save  time,  it  has  been  decided  that  there  shall 
be  no  return  to  the  house  for  luncheon  or  tea,  but 
that  both  shall  be  eaten  and  drunk  on  the  stage. 
The  contrary  endeavours  of  the  excellent  servants 
to  make  both  repasts  as  orderly  and  regular,  and 
of  the  mistress  to  jmake  them  as  scrambling  as  pos- 
sible, result  in  the  latter's  attaining  success  enough 
to  enable  her  to  say,  looking  round  on  her  relatives 
with  a  happy  moist  eye,  and  pledging  them  in  claret 
perversely  drunk  out  of  a  champagne-glass,  "  This 
is  almost  like  old  times!  " 

Sentimental  reminiscence,  however,  is  not  al- 
lowed to  interfere  with  the  business  of  the  day, 
and  by  the  time  that  Lettice  rather  shamefacedly 
enters  they  are  all  hard  at  it  again.  She  sits  down 
inoffensively  on  her  box,  rather  to  one  side,  near  a 
door,  so  that  she  is  the  first  object  on  which  Mr. 
Chevening's  eyes  light  when  he  enters  with  the 
haste  of  one  who  has  cut  some  other  occupation 
short  to  secure  his  being  in  time. 

"  You  here?  "  he  exclaims  in  a  key  the  delight 


a4a  FOES  IN   LAW 

of  which — and,  of  course,  there  must  be  delight — 
is  a  Httle  obscured  by  surprise.  "  This  is  unex- 
pected!" 

Her  answer  is  a  bald  "  Yes,"  and  he  goes  on. 

"  I  thought  that  you  were  determined  not  to  hear 
me  till  the  Day!" 

His  taking  for  granted — a  natural  enough  in- 
ference— that  his  own  share  in  the  show  is  the  one 
loadstone  that  could  have  overcome  her  aversion 
from  entering  the  desecrated  memorial  to  her 
mother  throws  upon  her  beam-ends  a  person  who 
is  guiltily  conscious  of  a  memory  from  which  "  Ay, 
Mate!  "  had  for  the  time  been  completely  sponged 
off.    Her  reply  is  thus  not  quite  ingenuous. 

"  You  see,  I  have  altered  my  mind." 

Still  he  shows  no  great  elation.  "  I  dare  say  " — 
there  is  a  slight  wrinkle  between  his  brows — "  that 
you  thought — that  it  struck  you  as  possible  that 
you  might  make  some  suggestions — some  criti- 
cisms; but  in  a  case  of  this  kind  one  has  one's  own 
conception,  and  one  must  stick  to  it." 

"  Certainly." 

"  I  have  had  a  good  deal  to  bear  already  in  that 

way  from "     A  motion  of  his  head  indicates 

Marie,  who,  having  now  utilized  Mrs.  Taylor  to 
represent  the  leading  gentleman,  who  is  not  to 
arrive  until  the  night  before  the  play,  is  hanging 
on  the  vicaress'  neck,  noisily  sobbing,  "  You  are — 
you  ever  will  be  my  own  darling  Reggy!  "  "  She 
always  thinks  herself  qualified  to  teach  anybody 
anything;  but  I  have  taken  a  very  firm  line  with 
her.  I  have  said,  *  Either  I  do  it  in  my  own  way, 
or  I  do  not  do  it  at  all.'  " 

"  And  that  threat  always  brings  her  round?  " 


foes;  IN   LAW  243 

Against  her  inclination,  there  is  something  coldly 
rallying  in  her  tone. 

"  You  know  under  what  pressure  I  undertook 
it/'  he  says,  drawing  himself  up,  "  and  how  in- 
tensely I  have  always  disliked  it,  and — her." 

In  rather  ludicrous  comment  on  this  statement 
comes  Marie's  intimate  shout  from  the  stage — 

"Randal!  Randal!" 

It  causes  her  brother,  who  is  standing,  as  he  has 
been  for  hours,  facing  the  performers  with  book 
in  hand,  reproving,  rebuking,  exhorting,  to  look 
round  just  in  time  to  catch  the  expression  of  dis- 
gust with  which  Mrs.  Trent's  liberal  employment 
of  her  fiance's  Christian  name  always  paints  Let- 
tice's  face.  The  fiance  himself  misses  it,  having  with 
praiseworthy  self-conquest  sprung  to  obey  a  hest 
which  on  his  own  showing  is  hateful  to  him. 

There  ensues  a  little  burst  of  jackdaw  chatter, 
which  gives  Gabriel  his  opportunity. 

"  She  did  not  mean  any  harm,"  he  says,  joining 
Miss  Trent,  and  speaking  unnecessarily  low  consid- 
ering the  aegis  of  clamour  that  protects  him.  "  She 
always  calls  everybody  by  their  Christian  name, 
and,  you  know,  he  will  be  her  brother-in-law." 

If  the  girl  starts,  she  at  least  has  the  probity  not 
to  deny  the  accuracy  of  the  hit. 

"  Have  I  given  you  the  right  to  read  my 
thoughts?  "  she  asks  haughtily.  Then,  with  an 
abrupt  change  of  key,  "  Of  course  she  has  every 
right  to  call  him  Randal.  As  you  say,  he  will  be 
her  brother-in-law." 

The  last  words  sound  as  if  they  had  been  said 
through  set  teeth. 

The  departure  of  Gabriel  to  his  stony-hearted 


244  FOES   IN   LAW 

bank  has,  owing  to  the  130  miles  which  part  Trent 
from  London,  to  take  place  in  the  small  hours  of 
the  morning,  and  to  those  who  know  the  Kergouet 
family  it  is  needless  to  say  that  so  admirable  an 
opportunity  for  an  all-night  sitting  is  greedily 
seized  upon.  Only  the  authority  of  the  brother, 
of  whom  they  are  so  flatteringly  eager  to  see  the 
last,  succeeds  in  driving  Louis  and  Frank  to  bed 
soon  after  midnight. 

It  is  still  later  before  Chevening,  with  rather  lay 
invectives  against  his  landlady  and  his  latchkeyless- 
ness,  reluctantly  retires.  It  seems  to  Lettice  that 
he  is  anxious  to  see  her  off  to  bed  before  he  does  so. 

"  You  have  had  enough  of  this,  I  should  think? 
You  will  not  stay  up  any  longer?  " 

She  detects  a  strain  of  suspiciousness  in  the  ques- 
tion, and  answers  perversely — 

"  I  do  not  know  about  that.  I  do  not  feel  at  all 
sleepy." 

"  You  will  be  rather  de  tropy'  he  says,  evidently 
inclined  to  be  ruffled.  "  You  are  not  expected  to 
be  included  in  the  '  send  off  *  !  " 

"No?" 

She  is  conscious  of  being  exasperating  with  her 
cavalier  monosyllable  and  her  tapping  foot;  but 
he  has  never  yet  been  punished  for  his  two-days*- 
old  outrage,  and  he  may  just  as  well  be  so  now. 
Yet  he  leaves  his  sting  behind  him.  It  is  perfectly 
true.  What  part  has  she  in  the  loudly  affectionate 
farewells  that  in  a  couple  of  hours  will  make  the 
welkin  ring? 

She  rises,  and  glances  round  the  room.  Neither 
Marie  nor  her  brother  are  visible.  Half  an  hour 
ago  the  former  had  gone  through  her  favourite 


FOES   IN   LAW  245 

hooking  movement,  and  drawn  him  away  to  a 
private  conference.  It  will  be  needlessly  uncivil 
not  to  say  good-bye  to  him. 

Lettice  sits  down  again.  Could  she  overhear 
the  dialogue  now  going  on  between  the  two  ab- 
sentees, it  might  quicken  her  movements  in  the 
direction  desired  by  her  betrothed. 

"  You  are  not  listening  to  a  word  I  say,"  Marie 
is  crying;  "  you  are  only  thinking  how  soon  I  shall 
release  you.  Well  " — with  a  childishly  pettish  toss 
of  her  head — "  there  is  no  accounting  for  taste." 

They  have  known  each  other  too  thoroughly 
through  nineteen  tenderly  affectionate  years  for 
her  not  to  know  that  this  is  no  random  shaft,  too 
thoroughly  for  him  to  deny  that  it  has  hit.  He 
winces  so  evidently  that  her  heart  smites  her. 

"  You  shall  have  her! "  she  cries,  generously 
emphasizing  her  liberality  by  throwing  her  arms 
round  his  neck.  "  I  do  not  fancy  her  myself,  as  I 
perhaps  may  have  mentioned  once  or  twice  before; 
but  since  you  do,  you  shall  have  her." 

**  Yes?  " — with  a  melancholy  light  kiss  on  the 
top  of  her  head — "  and  shall  I  have  the  moon  and 
a  few  of  the  fixed  stars  too,  to  put  in  my  pocket?  " 

"  If  they  would  do  you  any  good,  you  should," 
she  answers,  half  laughing  and  half  crying.  "  But 
they  would  not.  You  would  pull  them  out  when- 
ever you  wanted  to  blow  your  nose." 

He  does  not  want  to  cry,  and  he  can't  laugh,  so 
he  only  silently  returns  her  hug  of  sympathy. 

"  After  all,"  says  Mrs.  Trent,  optimistically,  when 
a  slight  pause  has  restored  her  to  some,  though 
not  very  much,  composure,  "  she  does  not  treat 
you  as  much  like  dirt  as  she  does  the  rest  of  us. 


246  FOES  IN   LAW 

Oh,  if  you  ever  do  marry  her,  make  her  pay,  I  be- 
seech you,  for  the  way  she  looks  at  father!  "  Then, 
feehng  Gabriel's  arms  slacken  a  Httle  at  this  un- 
christian parenthesis,  and  determined  to  say  some- 
thing that  will  make  them  tighten  again — "  After 
all,  many  more  unlikely  things  have  happened. 
There  is  nothing  in  the  way  but  that  wind-bag,  and 
he  is  not  really  in  the  way." 

"  What  do  you  mean?  " 

But  apparently  Marie  has  gone  rather  further 
than  she  had  intended. 

"  I  mean — well,  I  mean  that  a  wind-bag  can 
never  be  much  of  an  obstacle,  can  it?  " 

She  has  dropped  her  arms  from  round  him,  and, 
fidgeting  with  a  thumbed  and  torn  copy  of  the  play 
left  lying  on  a  table  near  her,  shows  him  only  her 
profile.  Her  brother  forcibly  turns  her  counte- 
nance fully  round  again. 

"  You  mean,"  he  says,  breathing  with  a  shaki- 
ness  that  brings  ruefully  home  to  her  how  bitterly 
real  and  serious  the  matter  is  to  him,  "  that  Cheve- 
ning  does  not  care  about  her — that " 

Since  the  young  man  does  not  finish  his  sentence 
himself,  he  can't  well  expect  his  sister  to  do  so, 
and  she  does  not.  There  is  a  silence,  through 
which  come  squeals  of  pain,  that  tell  how  Sybil, 
freed  from  all  irksome  overseeing,  is  putting  Muriel 
through  a  discipline  of  pinches,  to  which  no  amount 
of  custom  can  reconcile  that  young  creature's  sur- 
face. The  ears  of  both  preoccupied  elders  remain 
dull  to  the  appeal. 

"  I  think,"  says  Gabriel,  at  last,  speaking  with  the 
utmost  difficulty,  "  that  if  you  are  not  careful,  you 
will  have  trouble  with  that  man." 


FOES   IN   LAW  247 

She  flings  her  head  up,  showing  him,  with  no 
attempt  at  concealment  of  them,  a  pair  of  scarlet 
cheeks. 

"  Have  you  ever  known  me  have  trouble  with 
any  man?  Have  you  ever  seen  the  man  that  I 
could  not  keep  in  hand?  "  she  cries,  flashing  and 
sparkling  all  over,  and  with  a  voice  unconsciously 
lifting  itself  to  a  dangerously  audible  pitch. 

"  Hush!  they  will  hear  you."  Then,  in  a  moved 
key,  all  the  brotherly  tenderness  and  confidence  in 
which  cannot  extract  the  jealous  sting  from  the 
sister's  heart — "  I  am  not  in  the  least  afraid  for  you 
— I  know  what  an  excellent  head  you  carry  upon 
that  little  fidgety  body.    But  what  about  herf  " 


CHAPTER  XIX 

A  WEEK  of  confusion,  noise,  and  general  upsetting 
of  the  machine  of  life  follows;  not  much  inferior 
in  anarchy  to  the  days  preceding  Jim's  wedding. 
The  shortness  of  the  time  left  for  preparation,  com- 
bined with  the  various  magnitude  of  the  pro- 
gramme, would  be  enough  to  account  for  a  hand- 
some sum  of  hurry  and  bustle  in  the  best-trained 
professional  troupe;  when  to  this  is  added  the  Ker- 
gouet  genius  for  the  topsy-turvy,  the  chaos  beg- 
gars description. 

The  list  of  attractions  is  arranged — if  that  can  be 
said  to  be  arranged  which  is  disarranged  every  sec- 
ond day — to  ensure  Esmeralda's  appearance  in  al- 
most every  item,  and  the  printer  is  in  despair  at 
the  alterations  which  he  is  continually  and  at  an 
impossible  nearness  to  the  time  of  distribution  ex- 
pected to  make  in  the  programmes.  The  telegraph 
clerk  is  worked  off  her  legs,  and  desperate  appeals 
for  properties  that,  though  indispensable,  have 
been  forgotten,  and  actors  who  have  made  mis- 
takes about  trains,  succeed  each  other  without  a 
second's  intermission  along  the  wires. 

Until  the  last  moment  it  is  doubtful  whether  the 
leading  gentleman's  commanding  officer  will  not 
detain  him  for  some  paltry  guard  or  duty,  and  when 
hailed  like  dawn  by  the  sleepless  he  at  length  ar- 
rives, it  is  discovered  that,  though  he  has  brought 

848 


FOES   IN   LAW  249 

a  wardrobe  of  beautiful  clothes,  and  a  gentleman 
to  throw  limelight  upon  him,  he  does  not  know  a 
word  of  his  part. 

"  If  you  can  only  remember  your  cues  it  will  be 
all  right,"  says  Esmeralda,  with  her  usual  hopeful- 
ness, "  and  we  must  all  help  you.  That  was  what 
happened  the  other  night  at  the  Agora.    Since  her 

illness  Miss has  quite  lost  her  memory;    so 

the  whole  company  had  to  learn  her  part,  and  who- 
ever was  near  at  the  moment  prompted  her." 

The  anecdote  would  doubtless  reassure  them  all 
by  so  illustrious  a  parallel,  did  they  need  it;  but 
as  they  are  already  on  a  toppling  height  of  joyous 
confidence,  it  is  perhaps  superfluous.  And  their 
faith  in  themselves  is  gloriously  justified.  The 
dress  rehearsal  has  been  as  bad  as  it  was  possible 
to  be,  a  scene  of  wrangling  and  tomfooling  which 
there  was  no  Gabriel  to  suppress,  and  the  voice  of 
the  prompter,  though  "  loud  in  the  land,"  unable 
to  make  itself  heard  above  the  gabble  of  argument 
and  contradiction,  and  yet  nobody  had  seemed  the 
least  disturbed  or  apprehensive. 

Esmeralda's  optimistic  quotation  of  the  axiom 
that  "  The  worse  the  dress  rehearsal,  the  better  the 
first  night,"  is  not  needed  to  maintain  an  equa- 
nimity of  belief  in  the  family  troupe  that  nothing 
can  disturb.  And  the  applause  with  which,  at  the 
close  of  the  Performance,  on  that  first  night  the 
curtain  is  rung  down,  or  rather  pulled  across,  justly 
earned  by  the  hitchless  spirit  that  has  characterized 
the  carrying  out  of  the  whole  dramatic  theme, 
proves  to  Lettice — deeply  disbelieving  until  belief 
has  been  forced  upon  her — that  they  have  not  over- 
rated their  own  gifts. 


250  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  Really  wonderful  for  amateurs!  But  then,  Miss 
Kergouet — what  is  her  stage  name,  again?  "  (read- 
ing from  the  list  of  performers)  "  Miss  Poppy  Dela- 
field — is  not  an  amateur.  She  is  a  professional, 
though  I  do  not  happen  ever  to  have  seen  her,  do 
you?  and,  of  course,  even  one  professional,"  etc. 

The  "  one  professional  "  certainly  does  not  spare 
herself.  In  the  piece  de  resistance  she  doubles  her 
part,  changing  her  costume  and  her  appearance 
with  such  surprising  celerity  and  success  that  the 
slower-witted  among  the  audience  do  not  recog- 
nize the  identity  of  the  leading  lady  in  picture-hat 
with  the  pert  boy  in  tights  till  near  the  end  of  the 
play.  She  executes  a  classic  dance;  the  draperies, 
as  Lettice  hears  Marie  eagerly  repeating  to  half  a 
score  admirers,  copied  from  a  Greek  vase  in  the 
British  Museum.    She  sings  a  topical  song. 

Sybil  sings  too,  a  ditty  presumably  picked  up 
from  a  cafe-chantant  during  her  stay  in  Paris  at 
the  pension  "  kept  by  a  relation  of  dear  mother's." 

Most  of  the  audience,  not  understanding  a  word 
of  it,  applaud  vociferously  where  they  think  jokes 
appear  to  be,  and  say  how  good  the  singer's  ac- 
cent is. 

On  the  other  hand,  the  one  or  two  men  who 
can  follow  it  make  such  strong  representations  to 
Jim  upon  the  subject  that  it  is  replaced  on  the  next 
night — two  night  performances  and  one  matinee 
are  given,  to  include  all  classes  in  the  treat  by — 
"  When  Little  Pigs  begin  to  fly." 

Perhaps  what  brings  the  house  down  most  is 
when  little  Frank  trots  across  the  stage  in  his 
nightgown;  but  in  such  a  unanimous  hurricane 
of  approbation  it  would  be  invidious  to  particu- 


FOES  IN  LAW  aji 

larize.  If  the  voice  of  criticism  is  heard  at  all  it  is 
to  the  effect  that  there  is  not  enough  of  Mrs.  Trent; 
and,  indeed,  throughout  the  performance  the  com- 
parative indifference  of  the  hostess  to  her  own 
glory,  when  compared  with  her  strenuous  ardour 
in  the  display  of  her  family,  cannot  escape  observa- 
tion. 

"  What  do  they  say?  "  she  asks  in  an  excited 
whisper  of  her  husband  whom  she  has  forced  on 
to  the  first  boards  he  ever  trod  in  his  life,  to  "  walk 
on  "  in  a  crowd  from  which  it  is  not  her  fault  that 
the  vicar  himself  is  absent.  "  Do  not  they  think 
Esmeralda  quite  as  good  as  Winifred  Emery?  " 

"  They  want  more  of  yow." 

"Pooh!"  she  cries  impatiently.  "But  they  do 
appreciate  her,  don't  they?  She  is  playing  up 
wonderfully,  isn't  she?  It  is  such  a  chance  for  her 
to  be  seen — such  an  advertisement — particularly 
as  the  duchess  has  come,  after  all." 

Yes,  the  Duchess  of  Swyndford  has  come;  ar- 
riving smilingly  behind  time — though  that  is  a 
weakness  for  which  her  present  entertainer  is 
scarcely  in  a  position  to  blame  her — and  spoiling 
by  the  rustle  and  bustle  of  her  entry,  and  that  of 
her  party,  the  last  scene  of  the  lever  de  rideaii. 

Had  there  not  been  a  change  in  the  programme 
consequent  upon  Chevening's  positive  refusal  to 
incur  the  disadvantage  of  opening  the  ball,  her 
Grace  would  have  rushed  like  a  bull  in  a  china-shop 
into  the  explanatory  opening  stanzas  of  "  Ay, 
Mate!"  and  not  a  soul  would  have  known  what 
it  was  about. 

At  all  events,  here  she  is.  And  to  have  secured 
a  duchess-of-all-work,  who  to  the  professions  of 


252  FOES  IN  LAW 

beauty,  philanthropist,  and  social  reformer,  adds 
those  of  the  novelist  and  patron  of  the  drama,  is 
no  light  feat. 

Lettice,  sitting  on  her  right  hand  in  the  front 
row,  speculates  rather  uncomfortably  as  to  whether 
RandaFs  first  intimation  of  the  presence  of  the 
great  lady,  whose  slight  he  had  so  bitterly  resented, 
will  be  the  sight  of  her  directly  under  his  nose,  and, 
if  so,  what  disastrous  effect  the  discovery  may  have 
upon  his  recitation?  Is  it  within  the  bounds  of  pos- 
sibility that  he  may  break  down? 

She  has  only  time  for  a  gleam  of  rather  bogus 
self-gratulation  that,  after  all,  she  must  still  care 
for  him,  or  she  would  not  mind  whether  he  did  or 
no,  when  he  makes  his  entry.  It  is  clear — though 
not  to  the  general  public — that  he  did  not  know. 
A  slight  quiver  of  the  eyelids  and  pinching  in  of 
the  handsome  lips  tells  his  fiancee  so.  But  she  need 
not  have  feared  his  breaking  down.  The  opening 
words  reassure  her  on  that  head.  The  having  for 
an  auditor  the  woman  who  had  not  thought  him 
worth  hearing  in  the  Swyndford  pulpit,  so  far  from 
numbing  his  powers,  seems  to  kindle  them  to  a  fire 
of  inspiration,  unreached,  unapproached  before. 

Lettice  has  never  much  admired  "Ay,  Mate!" 
It  has  seemed  to  her  false,  tawdry,  pernicious, 
even,  in  its  tending  to  kindle  class  hatreds;  to  vilify 
the  rich  qua  rich,  and  deify  the  poor  qua  poor. 
But  to-night,  as  interpreted  by  Randal,  she  cannot 
deny  its  effective  platform  quality. 

The  reciter  advances  to  the  footlights,  his  tall 
figure  looking  loftier  than  its  wont  upon  the  little 
stage,  and  above  the  banked  flowers.  His  beauti- 
ful face  is  pale  and  serious;  his  eyes  full  of  sombre 


FOES   IN   LAW  253 

light.  He  begins  in  a  quiet  level  voice,  his  utter- 
ance so  perfect  that  each  low  syllable  reaches  the 
furthest  corner  of  the  hall,  and  continues  in  the 
same  key  till  the  outline  of  his  story  stands  out 
clear  and  sharp.  Then  comes  emotion,  action, 
never  excessive,  and  apparently  quite  spontaneous, 
as  if  arms  and  hands  of  their  own  accord  took  up 
the  theme  of  the  eloquent  tongue;  then  follows 
denunciation  that,  keeping  always  on  this  side 
rant,  sends  a  shiver  through  the  absolutely  still 
audience,  and  pathos,  never  maudlin,  that  brings 
out  stealthily  pocket-handkerchiefs. 

At  the  end  he  is  thrice  recalled  to  make  his  grave 
bow  of  acknowledgment. 

"  But  it  is  admirable!  "  cries  the  duchess,  wiping 
her  eyes.  "  I  must  try  to  get  him  to  do  it  for  me 
in  London.  Will  he  snub  me,  do  you  think,  if  I  ask 
him?  What  is  his  name?  " — referring  to  her  pro- 
gramme. "  The  Reverend  Randal  Chevening. 
Oh,  of  course.  How  stupid  of  me  to  ask!  " — with 
a  polite  little  smile  and  bow.  "  He  is  such  a  splen- 
did preacher,  I  am  told;  but  I  have  never  yet  been 
fortunate  enough  to  hear  him." 

Her  civil  but  perfectly  unapologetic  words  re- 
veal how  entirely  ignorant  or  forgetful  she  is  of  the 
slight  that  had  bitten  so  deep  and  rankled  so  long. 

"  He  preached  at  Swyndford  in  the  winter." 

''Did  he?  " — with  an  air  of  flattering  incredulity 
that  such  a  fact  could  have  escaped  her  memory. 
"  Oh  yes,  now  I  recall.  It  was  for  my  Mothers; 
and  I  was  unable  to  be  present.  I  was  called  away 
to  some  tiresome  corvee.  I  remember  now  how 
exceedingly  vexed  I  was." 

It  is  not  much  later  in  the  evening — during  the 


254  FOES   IN    LAW 

interval  for  refreshments — that  Lettice  hears  and 
sees  the  same  soothing  balms  being  poured  into 
her  lover's  wounds  by  the  very  hand  that  had  made 
them.  She  is  able  to  trace  in  Randal  the  several 
stages  of  formally  endured  introduction,  gradually 
clearing  brow  and  relaxing  lips,  and  final  and  com- 
plete condonation. 

And  meanwhile  the  "  Performance  "  rolls  along 
its  brilliant  and  variegated  course.  The  *'  leading 
gentleman,"  though  he  has  sat  up  all  night  to 
master  his  part,  cannot  be  said  to  have  assimilated 
it  very  thoroughly.  But  as  there  is  not  one  of  the 
Kergouets — and  they  are  all  playing  in  the  piece — 
who  is  not  more  than  able  and  willing  to  cram  him 
with  his  words  like  a  young  pigeon  with  peas;  and 
as  the  splendour  of  his  raiment  and  the  dazzle  of 
his  limelight  quite  take  off  attention  from  his  oral 
utterances,  he  does  very  well. 

And  if  this  is  true  of  the  weak  point,  what  can 
be  adequately  said  of  the  strong  ones?  Esme- 
ralda's topical  song,  the  allusions  in  which,  unlike 
Sybil's  cryptic  French  utterances,  every  one  can  un- 
derstand; Esmeralda's  classic  dance,  "  copied  from 
a  Greek  vase; "  Esmeralda's  sounding  box  on  the 
ear,  as  a  sparkling  waiting-maid  to  a  too  enterpris- 
ing young  Clapperton  (with  whom,  in  rehearsal, 
she  has  had  infinite  trouble  to  make  him  enterpris- 
ing enough);  Frank's  nightgown  rescue  of  his 
mother  (Marie)  from  a  villain; — all  pale  in  popu- 
larity before  the  final  appearance  in  front  of  the 
curtain  of  Mrs.  Trent,  carrying  in  her  arms  a  real 
baby,  lent  for  the  occasion,  and  with  which  she  has 
been  blessed  between  the  second  and  third  acts. 

And  now  it  is  over.    The  last  plaudits  have  died 


FOES   IN    LAW  255 

upon  the  ear,  the  last  carriage-wheel  has  rolled 
away  with  its  amused  and  supper-ward-looking 
load;  and  now,  through  the  noble  mahogany 
doors,  the  company  has  streamed  into  the  festal 
dining-room  at  Trent.  It  is  a  more  mixed  assem- 
blage than  the  five  Knellers  and  the  one  Rembrandt 
have  often  looked  down  upon;  for  Marie  has  com- 
pelled county,  town,  and' village  to  come  in,  "  that 
her  house  may  be  filled." 

The  jumble  would,  in  the  case  of  any  other  host- 
ess, have  given  dire  offence;  but  "  little  Mrs.  Trent 
is  such  a  character,  she  can  do  anything." 

The  phrase  has  sounded  over  and  over  again  in 
Lettice's  protesting  ears.  Why  should  "  little  Mrs. 
Trent  "  have  any  such  immunity  from  the  rules 
that  bind,  and  have  always  bound,  her  betters? 
The  answer,  doubtless,  is,  that  to  ignore  the  im- 
possibility of  any  course  of  action  is  halfway  to  ac- 
complishing it;  but  Lettice*s  indignant  question 
being  put  only  in  her  for  interieur,  there  is  naturally 
no  one  to  make  this  response. 

It  is  well  for  Miss  Trent's  peace  that  she  does 
not  know  that  among  the  invited  guests  had  been 
Mrs.  Fairfax;  but  that  lady,  despite  her  one  lapse, 
is  wise  in  her  generation,  and  not  even  the  pleasure 
of  comparing  notes  with  Mr.  Kergouet  upon  the 
world's  slaps  can  draw  her  from  her  safe  retreat. 

There  is  one  other  defaulter,  in  this  case  a  most 
unwilling  one.  The  sword  of  sick-headache,  un- 
suspectedly  hung  all  through  the  rehearsals  over 
Mrs.  Taylor's  devoted  head,  has  fallen;  and  within 
a  mile  of  the  applauses,  the  wine-cups,  and  the 
jests,  the  drama's  truest  votary  lies  prone. 

"  I  knew  how  it  would  be,"  says  the  vicar,  with 


256  FOES   IN   LAW 

the  proud  sadness  of  having  once  again  proved 
his  indefeasible  right  to  the  custodianship  of  the 

achingest  head  in  shire.     "  It  is  always  the 

same.    I  do  not  know  why  poor  Mrs.  Taylor  hoped 
she  might  escape  this  time." 

"  She  has  two  more  chances,"  replies  Lettice, 
betrayed,  contrary  to  her  better  judgment  and  to 
her  long  knowledge  of  her  vicar,  into  expressing 
a  more  sanguine  view.  "  We  are  to  have  the  privi- 
lege of  seeing  the  whole  show  twice  over  again." 

The  good  man  looks  hurt,  as  at  one  belittling 
another's  great  distinction. 

"  It  is  one  of  her  worst,"  he  says  very  gravely; 
"  they  never  last  less  than  three  days." 

"  Is  Jim  really  going  to  stand  after  all,  next 
election? "  asks  Lettice's  other  neighbour.  Lord 
Clapperton,  casting  an  inquiring,  though  not-in- 
the-least-objecting  glance  over  the  mixed  assem- 
blage. "  Why  do  I  ask?  Oh,  because  I  thought 
it  looked  as  if  his  missus  was  doing  popularity. 
She  would  be  invaluable  to  him,"  he  adds,  casting 
a  gay  old  eye,  not  empty  of  envy,  upon  the  place 
beside  the  hostess,  whence  the  Duke  of  Swyndford 
has  ejected  him.  "  She  might  have  let  me  sit  on 
her  other  side,  instead  of  beckoning  to  that  little 
chap  out  of  Brigg's  Bank,  as  I  saw  her  doing." 

"  She  has  a  brother  in  a  bank,"  replies  Lettice; 
"  so  perhaps  that  accounts  for  a  preference  that " 
— with  one  of  the  smiles  that,  less  often  than  of 
old,  turn  her  face  from  a  pretty  into  a  charming 
one — "  that  is  otherwise  unaccountable." 

We  all  know  that  to  lead  a  horse  to  the  water 
and  to  make  him  drink  are  two  different  exploits. 
Marie  has  led  her  horses  to  the  water,  and  they 


FOES  IN  LAW  i^y 

have  done  for  her  what  they  would  not  have  done 
for  any  one  else,  i.e.  they  have  forgiven  her  for 
bringing  them  there;  but  further  they  tacitly  de- 
cline to  go. 

The  party  sorts  itself,  except  in  the  case  of  the 
duke  and  duchess — though,  had  it  been  left  to 
Marie,  there  would  have  been  no  except — and  falls 
into  its  natural  sections.  The  three  old  maids — 
Miss  Smith,  Miss  Brown,  and  Miss  Lamothe — who 
see  each  other  every  day,  and  several  times  a  day, 
achieve  what  is  always  their  prime  object  at  a  feast, 
the  sitting  together;  the  brewer  takes  the  wine- 
merchant's  wife,  and  the  wine-merchant  the  brew- 
er's, and  the  incandescent  gas  goes  in  alone.  But 
anyhow,  by  whatever  methods  they  arrive,  here 
they  all  are;  for  ever  afterwards  in  a  position  to 
say  that  they  have  supped  with  a  duchess,  as  Pepys 
said  he  had  "kissed  a  queen;"  and  to  tell  how, 
at  the  head  of  her  own  table,  they  had  seen  Mrs. 
Trent  stand  up,  and,  with  her  glass  in  her  hand, 
propose  the  toast  of  "  The  Drama." 

It  is  responded  to  for  Esmeralda  by  the  leading 
gentleman,  who  is  only  too  delighted  to  have  an 
opportunity  of  identifying  himself  with  the  real 
stage;  and  having  a  better  command  over  his  own 
words  than  he  had  had  over  those  of  his  part, 
brings  down  the  house  by  the  humorous  manner 
in  which  he  does  so  with  pleasantries  as  brilliant 
as  his  limelight. 

When  a  certain  pitch  of  human  elation  is 
reached,  it  is  a  pity  to  waste  good  jokes  upon  it, 
since  bad  ones  do  as  well,  if  not  better;  and  ere 
the  steady  walls  of  the  decorous  eighteenth-century 
house  cease  rocking  with  the  company's  mirth, 


258  FOES   IN    LAW 

Mrs.  Trent  and  her  family  have  degenerated  into 
jokes,  which,  though  perfectly  harmless,  would,  for 
their  sheer  badness,  find  admittance  into  no  jest- 
book. 

Sybil,  of  course,  tends  towards  horse-play,  and 
tries  to  hoist  both  dogs  upon  the  supper-table  and 
incite  -them  to  fight;  but  Miss  Kirstie,  whose 
Covenanter  blood  revolts  against  play-acting,  and 
who  fs  already  upset  at  having  been  mountebanked 
into  a  Dog  Toby  collar  in  cut  paper,  shows  such  a 
clean  white  row  oi  reasons  against  her  exhibition 
as  not  only  arrests  the  project,  but  also  puts  an  end 
to  the  sitting,  which  otherwise  might  have  lasted 
till  sunrise. 

T*  3(C  ^C  3|C  9|C  9|C 

And  now  it  is  all  over.  The  second  and  third 
performances  have  followed  the  first  into  the  past 
— second  and  third  performances  alike  unseen  by 
Mrs.  Taylor,  who,  true  to  her  husband's  prevision, 
rises  from  her  sick-bed  only  in  time  to  see  the  dis- 
mantling workmen  and  property-laden  carts  un- 
build the  fabric  of  such  high  hopes. 

Marie  is  almost  as  much  cut  up  at  the  vicaress's 
disaster  as  that  lady  herself,  and  spends  herself  in 
efforts  to  repair  the  ill, nature  of  Fate  by  vivid 
descriptions,  posthumous  dressings-up,  and  reit- 
erated photographic  groups,  which  turn  the  Vicar- 
age drawing-room  into  a  temple  of  Thalia. 

Mrs.  Trent's  hands  have  indeed  been  full  during 
the  eventful  week,  as  to  her  other  manifold  labours 
she  has  added  that  of  personally  assuring  herself 
that  all  the  insignificant  people  have  good  places, 
that  the  deaf  are  seated  where  they  can  hear,  and 
the  purblind  where  they  can  see.     She   gallops 


FOES   IN   LAW  259 

through  it  all  somehow  with  indomitable  spirit, 
carrying  her  troupe  with  her  to  the  brilliantly  suc- 
cessful close. 

"  When  the  Little  Pigs  begin  to  fly  "  has  super- 
seded Sybil's  cafe-chantant  song  with  universal  ap- 
probation, and  being  placed  at  a  safe  distance  from 
"  Ay,  Mate!  "  has  not  materially  injured  that  tragic 
utterance,  which  indeed  brings  out  quite  as  many 
pocket-handkerchiefs  as  at  first.  When  their  own 
duchess  had  led  the  way,  who  would  not  blush  not 
to  follow? 

"  Her  Grace  is  really  very  much  affected,"  Miss 
Lamothe  has  said  in  a  respectful  whisper  to  one 
of  her  cronies.  "  Now  that  she  has  turned  her 
face  this  way  I  can  distinctly  see  a  tear  on  her 
cheek.    Yes,  she  is  wiping  it  away." 

"Wiping  it  away!"  repeats  Miss  Brown,  whose 
sight,  although  her  hearing  is  better,  is  not  so  good 
as  her  ally's.  "  Then  she  can't  be  as  much  made 
up  as  they  say." 

"Are  you  converted?"  Randal  has  asked  his 
iiancee,  with  a  smile  that  he  tries  not  to  make  too 
triumphant,  getting  near  her  for  the  first  time  at 
the  very  end  of  the  revel. 

The  duchess  has  talked  to  Chevening  all  through 
supper,  turning  her  shoulder  upon  Jim.  The  ladies 
whom  Mr.  Trent  escorts  to  his  own  board  invaria- 
bly say  how  much  they  like  him,  but  none  of  them 
ever  try  to  talk  to  him.  There  is  a  theory  widely 
held  through  the  neighbourhood  that  he  prefers 
silence.  It  has  not  originated  with  nor  is  ever  sup- 
ported by  himself,  but  the  belief  is  too  deep-rooted 
now  to  be  dislodged,  and  he  acquiesces  in  it  with 
his  usual  good-humoured  patience. 


26o  FOES   IN   LAW 

"Am  I  converted  to  what?"  Then,  ashamed 
of  a  pretended  ignorance  that  is  merely  petulant, 
she  answers,  "  I  thought  you  did  it  well." 

The  encomium  is  evidently  as  much  inferior  in 
warmth  to  what  he  has  just  been  receiving,  as  was 
Cordelia's  profession  of  afifection  to  her  sisters, 
and  his  face  falls.  Her  conscience  smites  her  a 
little  for  gratuitously  snubbing  him  in  his  moment 
of  perhaps  just  elation,  mainly  because  she  herself 
is  feeHng  cross  and  jaded. 

"  There  can  be  no  doubt  as  to  its  having  been 
a  success." 

"  So  she  has  been  telling  me  " — with  a  slight 
jerk  of  his  head.  "  Of  course,  one  cannot  judge 
of  one's  own  performance,  and  equally  of  course 
strangers  say  civil  things  to  one;  but  from  you,  at 
least,  I  knew  that  I  should  get  the  truth." 

Once  again  conscience  pricks.  Is  he  so  sure  of 
getting  the  truth  from  her?  Is  she  not  rather  a 
walking  He  in  her  relation  to  him? 

"  I  think  you  did  it  admirably." 

His  face  lights  up.  "  If  my  dear  Lady  Veracity 
tells  me  so,  I  may  begin  to  believe  it,"  he  cries, 
with  a  gaiety  that  seems  to  her  out  of  drawing. 

"  You  have  been  invited  to  repeat  it  in  London." 

"  How  did  you  know  that?  " — rather  quickly. 

"  The  duchess  consulted  me  as  to  whether  you 
would  be  likely  to  snub  her  if  she  asked  you." 

There  is  a  touch  of  banter  in  her  voice.  He 
looks  slightly  confused. 

"  I  believe  she  did  say  something  about  it " — 
indifferently-^"  but,  of  course,  it  is  entirely  out  of 
the  question.*' 

"  I  suppose  so/' 


FOES   IN   LAW  261 

This  is  not  the  rejoinder  he  had  meant  to  re- 
ceive, and  she  knows  it. 

**  So  you  have  forgotten  her  Grace's  trespasses?" 
cries  Marie,  flying  up  to  them  in  mad  gaiety,  the 
last  guest,  except  Randal,  having  at  length  de- 
parted. "  And  you  did  it  very  thoroughly,  too — 
no  half  measures.    I  saw  you  at  supper." 

"  I  am  flattered  that  you  had  so  much  attention 
to  spare  for  me,"  he  answers  resentfully,  and  flash- 
ing at  her  one  of  those  dark  looks  which  have  al- 
ways puzzled  Lettice. 

"  Ah,  but,  you  see,  his  Grace  was  not  begging 
me  to  come  and  perform  for  him  in  London^  as  her 
Grace  was  you,"  retorts  she,  teasingly. 

"  You  are  very  liberal  of  your  *  Graces,' "  says 
Lettice,  tartly  and  jarred. 

"  I  try  to  be,"  replies  Mrs.  Trent,  maliciously. 
"  I  called  the  duke  '  your  Grace '  every  time  I 
spoke  to  him.    Was  not  that  right?  " 


CHAPTER   XX 

The  Kergouet  visit  lasts  for  a  full  fortnight  after 
their  theatrical  display.  Why  should  they  hurry 
away  when  they  are  giving  and  receiving  so  much 
pleasure?  By  the  end  of  it  Miss  Trent  doubts  her 
own  identity.  It  is  not  as  if  she  were  able  to  be 
merely  an  onlooker  at  their  revels.  Nolens  volens, 
they  drag  her  into  them.  Nothing  can  make  the 
younger  members  of  the  family  understand  that 
she  dislikes  and  disapproves  of  them  in  the  highest 
degree,  nor  that  there  is  any  particular  sacredness 
about  her  sitting-room  which  on  their  wet-day  in- 
door rompings  about  the  passages  they  freely  use 
as  a  bolt-hole.  And  although  Esmeralda  apolo- 
gizes for  and  deprecates  these  intrusions,  her  own 
droppings  in,  preceded  ty  a  rap  at  the  door  which 
does  not  wait  for  a  permission  to  enter,  dropping 
in  to  tell  Miss  Trent  she  must  be  lonely  and  regale 
her  with  orts  and  fragments  from  the  theatrical 
feast  that  is  always  being  held  in  her  own  mind, 
are  in  her  victim's  opinion  a  not  inferior  ill.  The 
visits  have  taken  their  rise  in  Esmeralda's  requests 
to  Lettice  to  hear  her  words. 

"  I  am  always  a  slow  study,"  says  the  little 
actress,  cheerfully;  "  but  then,  when  once  I  have 
got  the  words  into  my  head  they  are  there  for  ever. 
There  is  not  a  single  role  I  have  ever  learnt  that  I 

262 


FOES   IN   LAW  263 

could  not  say  through  now  from  beginning  to  end. 
Would  you  care  to  try  me?  " 

"  Oh,  by  no  means,"  returns  Lettice,  precipi- 
tately.   "  Of  course,  I  take  your  word  for  it." 

It  is  certainly  not  Miss  Trent's  fault  that,  when 
she  is  feeling  most  uncharitably  towards  Muriel 
and  Sybil  for  some  freshly  perpetrated  enormity, 
they  should  gallop  up  to  her  and,  flinging  their 
arms  about  her  neck,  swear  they  had  never  known 
what  happiness  was  before. 

"  You  are  very  fond  of  *  swearing, '  "  she  an- 
swers, disengaging  herself,  ruffled,  the  first  time 
this  occurs. 

''Are  we?  "  replies  Muriel.  Then,  regretfully, 
"  We  do  not  know  many  English  oaths,"  but,  with 
recovered  self-respect,  "  we  know  all  the  worst 
French  jurons.'" 

It  is  not  Lettice's  fault  that  Louis,  who  is  in- 
clined to  be  a  tell-tale — the  vice  of  the  oppressed — 
makes  her  the  confidante  of  his  sister's  iniquities, 
nor  that  they  in  return  utilize  her  as  a  means  of 
airing  their  estimate  of  him. 

"  We  like  Frank,"  they  say  on  one  of  these  occa- 
sions; "but  we  get  tired  of  people.  We  used  to 
like  Louis,  but " — eyeing  him  with  dispassionate 
disapproval — '*  we  do  not  like  him  at  all  now." 

Louis's  delicate,  girlish  face  grows  pink.  "  You 
cannot  possibly  dislike  me,"  he  says,  with  his 
strong  French  accent,  "  so  much  as  I  dislike  you." 

The  range  of  the  Miss  Kergouets'  crimes  is 
immense,  embracing  the  most  childish  ones  as  well 
as  those  of  an  almost  grown-up  cast.  Released 
from  the  confines  of  a  narrow  Paris  appartement, 
their  joy  in  their  emancipation  seems  as  if  it  could 


264  FOES   IN   LAW 

not  translate  itself  adequately,  except  by  trans- 
gression of  some  law.  They  invade  every  province, 
crying  "  Havoc  "  to  the  "  Dogs  of  War  "  wherever 
they  go.  They  parade  their  wickednesses,  as  when 
they  buy  shag  illegally  at  the  village  shop,  and 
smoke  it  brazenly  in  the  village  street.  In  a  root- 
shed  they  find  some  dahlia  tubers,  cherished  of  the 
gardener's  soul,  and  hew  them  into  bits.  Asked 
why  they  have  committed  this  piece  of  wanton  de- 
struction, answer  puerilely  that  they  have  been 
playing  at  mashing  potatoes.  No  babyish  mischief 
is  too  small,  nor  any  half-grown-up  indiscretion 
too  great  for  them. 

Everywhere  Sybil  leads — dauntless,  conscience- 
less, unconquerable,  hard  as  nails.  She  ends  by 
extracting  an  unwilling  admiration  from  Miss 
Trent,  an  admiration  that  dates  from  the  day  when, 
within  twenty-four  hours,  she  flays  her  shin,  has 
her  thumb  pinched  by  a  companion  in  the  hinge  of 
a  door,  and  runs  a  splinter  of  wood  into  the  palm 
of  her  hand  so  deep  that  it  has  to  be  extracted  by 
pincers — all  without  caring  a  straw. 

At  the  end  of  the  fortnight,  despite  the  heavy 
bill  for  repairs  which  marks  their  track  wherever 
they  go,  Lettice  is  surprisedly  conscious  that  she 
dislikes  the  Kergouet  family  distinctly  less  than  she 
did  at  the  beginning.  They  enjoy  themselves  so 
extravagantly,  and  are  so  absurdly  persistent  in 
telling  her  so,  and  in  trying  to  enlist  her  help  in 
securing  a  speedy  repetition  of  their  bliss,  and  to 
the  end  remain  so  loyally  unconscious  of  antipathy 
or  even  unfriendliness  on  her  part,  that  by  dint  of 
ignoring  them,  these  sentiments  imperceptibly  lose 
much  of  their  earlier  vigour. 


FOES  IN   LAW  265 

The  Miss  Kergouets  are  dreadful  girls,  being 
and  doing  everything  that  is  most  offensive  to  her; 
and  yet  there  is  something  about  their  tremendous 
vitality,  their  boisterous  good-humour,  their  in- 
vincible taking  for  granted  that  she  sympathizes  in 
their  terrible  sports,  that  ends  by  partially  disarm- 
ing her. 

"  This  is  a  white  stone  day  for  you,  I  suppose?  " 
says  Marie,  as  she  enters  the  dining-room  on  her 
return  from  the  highly  emotional  "  send  off  "  she 
has  been  giving  her  relatives  from  the  little  local 
station.  The  tears  are  rolling  down  her  cheeks; 
but  through  them  defiance  flashes  —  defiance 
crossed  by  a  sort  of  hankering  after  being  contra- 
dicted. 

"  Is  it? "  replies  Lettice,  coldly  resenting  this 
gratuitous  attempt  to  pick  a  quarrel.  Then,  rather 
relenting  at  the  sight  of  the  small  woeful  loveliness 
that  even  abundant  crying  cannot  much  deface, 
she  adds,  "  One  gets  used  to  anything."  It  is  not 
a  very  gracious  concession,  but  she  softens  it  by 
adding  with  a  smile,  "  I  mean  in  the  way  of  noise." 

Mrs.  Trent  does  not  rejoin  at  once,  standing 
disconsolately  looking  out  of  window,  whence  not 
even  a  trace  of  Sybil's  or  Muriel's  breakages  is  vis- 
ible to  cheer  her.  Presently  she  returns  to  the 
table,  and,  as  if  repeating  unwillingly  a  lesson 
learnt  by  rote,  says — 

"  My  father  bid  me  thank  you." 

**  Thank  me!    For  whatf  " 

The  daughter  shrugs  her  slight  shoulders  ex- 
pressively. 

"  Father  is  always  very  courteous.    You  heard 


266  FOES   IN   LAW 

Esmeralda  her  words,  and  you  were  fairly  civil  to 
Gabriel.    I  suppose  it  was  more  than  he  expected." 

Then  her  tears  master  her;  and  though  she  has 
generally  the  indifference  of  a  child  or  a  savage  as 
to  being  seen  publicly  weeping,  she  now  flies,  car- 
rying her  grief  with  her,  out  of  the  room. 

Miss  Trent  remains  for  a  few  moments  staring 
straight  before  her.  So  this  is  the  whole  sum  of 
human  kindness  in  respect  to  the  Kergouet  family 
that  can  be  scraped  up  to  her  credit!  She  does  not 
know  whether  she  ought  to  be  remorseful  or  not. 
She  does  not  even  know  whether  she  is  remorseful 
or  not.  She  only  knows  that  her  spirit  sits  heavily 
upon  its  throne  within  her.  To  lighten  it,  to  dis- 
tract her  thoughts,  or  perhaps  solely  because  she 
thinks  it  a  duty,  she  goes,  heavily  still,  to  see  a 
sick  woman  in  the  village,  only  to  find  that  the  in- 
vaHd,  though  politely  trying  to  disguise  the  feel- 
ing, is  disappointed  that  she  is  not  Marie.  She 
returns  home  more  heavily,  to  be  told  that  Mr. 
Chevening  has  been  waiting  for  her  for  half  an 
hour  in  her  sitting-room. 

Heavily  still,  most  heavily,  she  joins  him.  He 
has  paid  her  several  visits  there  during  the  past 
fortnight,  but  the  young  Kergouets  have  so  en- 
tirely destroyed  the  privacy  of  the  room  by  their 
incursions — a  result  for  which  for  once  she  heartily 
blesses  them — that  Randal  and  she  have  scarcely 
met  as  lovers. 

The  turning  of  love's  bower  into  a  railway  wait- 
ing-room naturally  provokes  much  protesting  ire 
from  the  young  man;  but  a  proposal  that  they  shall 
defend  themselves  by  locking  the  door  against  in- 
truders meets  with  such  lively  dissent  on  th?  part 


FOES   IN   LAW  267 

of  his  lady-love  that  he  does  not  repeat  it.  There 
are  no  protecting  Kergouets  to-day,  and  she  reads 
the  consequences  to  be  expected  in  his  eye, 

"  I  have  come  to  congratulate  you.'* 

"Upon  what?" 

The  initial  embrace  has  been  got  through. 

"  Upon  the  exodus!    They  are  really  gone?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Thank  Heaven!" 

She  is  still  in  her  walking  things,  and,  in  order 
to  free  herself  from  him,  begins  to  take  off  her 
feather  boa. 

"  I  think  I  am  too  wicked  to-day  to  be  able  to 
say  or  feel  '  thank  Heaven!  *  for  anything." 

Her  tone  expresses  such  utter  out-of-tuneness 
that  he  looks  at  her,  startled. 

"  What  does  this  mean?  " 

'*  I  do  not  know,"  she  answers  flatly. 

"  Is  it  the  natural  consequence  of  a  swarm  of 
locusts  having  passed  over  you?  "  he  asks,  laugh- 
ing satirically.    "  But  they  are  gone." 

"  It  has  nothing  to  say  to  the  swarm  of  locusts." 

"  Are  you  ill?  " — recovering  on  this  excellent  ex- 
cuse the  momentarily  lost  proximity.  "  But  no, 
your  eyes  are  as  clear  as  crystal,  your  skin " 

"  Oh,  my  eyes  and  skin  are  all  right,"  she 
answers  impatiently. 

"  There  is  something  that  is  not  all  right  about 
you,"  he  answers,  reddening  with  displeasure,  "and 
I  think  I  have  a  right  to  know  what  it  is." 

Her  answer  sounds  irrelevant.  "  I  have  been  to 
see  Mary  Beech.  I  think  she  is  certainly  dying; 
and  she  told  me  that  you  had  not  been  near  her  for 
ten  days." 


268  FOES   IN    LAW 

He  loses  his  temper.  "  You  mean  to  charge  me 
with  neglect  of  duty?  You  have  taken  upon  you 
the  role  of  censor?  "  he  cries;  then,  after  a  minute 
or  two  of  angry  silence,  he  resumes  his  self-com- 
mand. "  Possibly  you  are  right;  possibly,  prob- 
ably I  have  shared  the  general  deterioration  of 
tone  that  has  invaded  the  parish  ever  since " 

"  If  you  are  alluding  to  Marie/*  she  breaks  in, 
"  she  is  far  more  active  in  visiting  the  sick  than  you 
ever  were." 

His  jaw  drops,  petrifaction  at  this  adoption  of 
the  part  of  heated  defender  of  what  she  has  always 
reprobated  on  the  part  of  his  fair  one  blunting  at 
first  the  force  of  the  severe  snub  to  himself.  He 
cannot  be  much  more  astonished  at  her  partisan- 
ship than  she  is  herself. 

No  voice  is  heard  for  a  space  but  that  of  Miss 
Kirstie,  who  from  her  watch-tower  on  the  window- 
seat  has  spied  a  boy  crossing  the  park.  His  uni- 
form tells  her  that  he  is  of  that  class  whose  heels 
taste  better  than  those  of  any  other;  and  the  little 
diversion  of  conniving  at  her  efforts  to  reach  him 
by  opening  the  door  for  her  to  bundle  out  in  pur- 
suit restores  speech  to  the  lovers,  or  at  least  to  one 
of  them. 

"  We  have  both  deteriorated  within  the  last 
three  months,"  Lettice  says,  in  a  voice  of  melan- 
choly candour.  "  I  am  quite  conscious  of  it  my- 
self; I  was  saying  so  only  the  other  day  to  some 
one." 

He  is  far  too  much  ruffled  to  give  the  amorous 
contradiction  to  such  a  statement  which  he  would 
certainly  have  done  half  an  hour  before;  and  she 
continues,  with  a  partly  conscious,  partly  uncon- 


FOES   IN   LAW  269 

scious  enjoyment  of  bracketing  him  with  herself  in 
her  depreciation. 

"  We  are  not  so  spiritually  minded  as  we 
were." 

"  We  have  certainly  a  good  deal  changed  our 
relative  positions,"  he  retorts,  with  a  laudable 
effort  to  disguise  the  poignant  pique  her  candour 
engenders.  **  It  is  probably  difficult  to  you  to  be- 
lieve now  that  you  once  looked  up  to  me." 

If  her  thought  were  to  translate  itself  into  words, 
it  would  run  somewhat  thus,  *'  Looked  up  to  you? 
That  must  have  been  a  long  time  ago."  But  to  say 
so  would  be  to  burn  her  ships  down  to  the  water's 
edge.  She  contradicts  him  as  little  as  he  had  con- 
tradicted her. 

Her  eyes  wander  to  the  window  through  which 
Miss  Kirstie — some  kind  friend  having  removed 
all  obstacles  in  the  way  of  intervening  portals  to 
her  chase — is  seen  scampering  as  fast  as  her  short 
legs  and  fat  body  will  permit  in  pursuit  of  the  tele- 
graph boy,  who,  knowing  her  all  too  well  to  tarry, 
is  showing  her  those  appetizing  heels  of  his  only  at 
hopeless  distance  ahead. 

"  We  ought  not  to  have  let  her  out,"  says  Miss 
Trent,  with  a  lenient  smile,  and  feeling  a  momen- 
tary relief  in  the  relaxed  tension. 

But  to  the  other  interlocutor  the  situation  is  far 
too  grave  to  permit  of  any  interlude  for  Miss  Kir- 
stie's  alarums  and  excursions. 

"  What  is  the  drift  of  these  home  truths,  if  truths 
they  are,  might  I  ask?  "  he  inquires,  with  a  pale  and 
rigorous  politeness. 

"  What  indeed?  "  she  murmurs. 


ayo  FOES  IN   LAW 

"  Are  you  leading  up  to  telling  me  that  you  wish 
to  throw  me  over?  " 

The  phrase  strikes  her  as  crude,  even  to  shock- 
ingness;  and  the  tone  in  which  she  repeats  it  may 
justify  the  instantly  restored  confidence  of  his  look 
and  voice. 

"  No,"  he  says,  regarding  her  with  a  victor's  eye, 
which  she  finds  hard  to  bear.  "  That  is,  of  course, 
nonsense.  Such  an  expression  could  have  no 
meaning  between  you  and  me.  After  that  first 
sacred,  sealing  kiss " 

"  Am  I  never  to  hear  the  last  of  it?  "  she  breaks 
in,  with  a  desperation  that  would  sound  extremely 
comic  to  any  dispassionate  bystander;  but  is  abso- 
lutely without  that  element  to  its  hapless  utterer. 
"  Because  I  was  once  unladylike  enough  to  take  the 

initiative No  " — correcting  herself,   rearing 

her  fine  throat,  and  looking  squarely  at  him  with 
recaptured  self-respect — "  no,  it  was  not  unlady- 
like, because  I  believed  it  to  be  the  real  thing,  and  I 
wanted  to  show  you  that  when  I  gave,  I  gave 
freely." 

"  And  now  you  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that 
it  was  not  the  real  thing?  "  he  asks,  his  confidence 
obviously  oozing  away  into  angry,  pale  misgiving. 
"  You  wish  to  take  back  your  gift?  That,  thank 
God,  you  can  never  do.  No  sponge  can  ever  wipe 
off  the  memory  of  that  voluntary — yes,  most  vol- 
untary— gift  of  yours  from  your  memory  any  more 
than  from  mine;  but  you  have  got  as  far  as  the 
wish?  I  defy  you  to  get  further;  and  now  you 
would  fain  give  freely  to  some  one  else." 

"  It  is  a  perfectly  unjustifiable  assumption,"  she 
repHes,  almost  inaudibly,  from  excess  of  anger.  *'  If 


FOES   IN    LAW  271 

you  cannot  discuss  the  question  without  insulting 
me 

"  I  did  not  mean  to  insult  you,"  he  cries,  drop- 
ping down  in  sudden  revulsion  upon  his  knees  and 
lifting  the  hem  of  her  gown  to  his  lips. 

The  action  strikes  her  as  theatrical,  and  out  of 
taste;  but  there  is  no  play-acting  about  the  alarm 
and  misery  of  his  eyes. 

"  What  I  meant  to  say  was,"  she  begins  again 
presently,  in  broken  phrases,  and  with  great  difB- 
culty,  *'  that  even — granting  I  meant  all  you  say — 
by  that — kiss — which  I — do  not  attempt  to  deny; 
yet — that  supposing  afterwards — later — we  found 
we  had — made  a  mistake — what  was  intended  for 
a  seal  of  eternal  love — ought  not  to  be  turned  into 
a  chain  to  tie  two  galley-slaves  together." 

*'A  chain  to  tie  izvo  galley-slaves  together!  It  has 
come  to  that! " 

The  tragedy  in  his  tone  is  better  than  anything 
in  "  Ay,  Mate!  "  and  would  be  warmly  relished  by 
the  duchess  could  she  hear  it,  having  moreover  the 
superiority  over  his  histrionic  success  of  being  ab- 
solutely genuine.  It  does  not  make  Lettice  feel 
the  actual  criminal  that  it  would  have  done  a  couple 
of  months  ago;  but  it  revives  in  some  degree  the 
sense  of  guilt  towards  him. 

She  looks  at  him  with  troubled  eyes,  trying  by 
their  aid  to  reconstruct  the  person  to  whom  she 
had  given  that  now  incomprehensible  embrace. 
The  explanation  that  dawns  upon  her  as  she  looks, 
that  it  was  not  this  lover's  at  all — that  it  was  Love's 
own  lips  she  had  thought  to  kiss — can  scarcely  be 
made  clear  to  the  counterfeit  Eros.  It  is  a  diffi- 
culty in  which  many  women  involve  themselves, 


272  FOES   IN   LAW 

but  from  which   few   extricate   themselves   quite 
handsomely. 

"  I  never  said  that  it  had  come  to  that,'*  she 
answers.    "  I  was  only  supposing  a  possibility." 

"  Three  months  ago  would  such  a  possibility 
have  seemed  possible?  " 

She  hesitates,  probing  memory  to  find  how  far 
the  roots  of  her  disloyalty  to  him  run  back. 

"  We  are  neither  of  us  what  we  were  two  months 
ago,''  she  answers  evasively — "  certainly  not  what 
we  thought  we  were  going  to  be!  Have  we  raised 
and  strengthened  and  ennobled  one  another,  as  we 
planned?  For  myself,  I  can  truly  say  that  I  never 
recollect  a  time  when  I  have  done  so  little  practical 
good,  and  given  way  to  so  many  unworthy  tempers 
and  unchristian  thoughts." 

The  quality  of  Christianity  is,  perhaps,  not  very 
conspicuous  in  the  elation  felt  by  Miss  Trent  at  the 
liberal  measure  of  speaking  out  she  thus  at  last 
allows  herself. 

"  And  you  lay  the  blame  upon  me?  "  he  asks  with 
a  white  protest  of  indignation  that  she  cannot  but 
feel  to  be  partly  merited. 

"  No,  that  would  not  be  fair;  of  course,  a  great 
deal  of  it  has  been  due  to  Marie;  but  even  there  " 
— with  a  much  greater  ease  of  utterance  than  had 
marked  the  beginning  of  her  sentence,  and  a  re- 
newal of  the  sense  of  elation — "  if  you  had  taken  a 
dififerent  tone,  had  been  less  prejudiced  and  bitter, 
had  soothed  my  feelings  of  exasperation  instead  of 
stimulating  them " 

She  stops  suddenly.  A  piece  of  your  mind  is  a 
delightful  present  to  make  to  a  friend — upon  occa- 


FOES   IN   LAW  273 

sion;  but  the  size  must  be  proportioned  to  his 
capacities,  and  you  may  overdo  it. 

The  recipient  of  Miss  Trent's  bounty  has  sunk 
down  with  bowed  head  before  her  beautifully  neat 
bureau,  and  from  behind  the  long,  high-bred  hands 
that  hide  his  face  comes  a  sound  that  might  be  mis- 
taken for  a  sob.  Her  eyes  take  the  shocked  round- 
ness of  a  child  that  has  toppled  down  a  china  jar, 
and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  she  goes  up  and 
touches  him. 

The  light  contact  brings  him  with  a  start  to  his 
feet,  and  he  faces  her  with  dignity,  and  with  a 
countenance  that,  to  her  reHef,  is  not  disfigured  by 
the  moisture  of  tears. 

"  You  have  made  your  meaning  very  clear,"  he 
says.  "  Your  methods  are  always  direct.  I  have 
to  thank  you  for  giving  me  three  months  of  your 
life;  which,  though  irksome  to  you,  to  me  have 
been " 

He  pauses  with  a  determination,  of  which  she 
feels  and  respects  the  manliness,  rather  not  to  finish 
his  sentence  at  all,  than  to  end  it  with  a  mendicant's 
whine.  His  words  set  the  door  to  freedom,  which 
she  has  been  longing  to  break  down  even  with  axe 
and  crowbar,  wide  open  without  a  push;  yet  she 
makes  no  step  towards  passing  through  it. 

"  You  are  going  very  fast,"  she  says  with  a  sort 
of  gasp. 

*'  Faster  than  you  wish?  " 

There  is  no  revived  confidence  in  his  tone  to 
jar  her,  and  its  anger — there  must  be  anger — is 
shrouded  in  a  mournfulness  so  opaque  as  to  be 
scarcely  detectable  through  it. 

"  Yes,  much  faster." 


274  FOES   IN    LAW 

She  pauses;  the  longing  for  emancipation,  now 
that  she  has  allowed  herself  once  to  look  it  in  the 
face,  pouring  over  her  in  almost  overwhelming 
strength.  But  she  has  ever  been  a  just  woman, 
and  what  sort  of  justice  is  this  that  she  is  meting 
out  to  him?  He  has  always  been  what  he  is  how, 
only  that  she  had  not  the  wit  to  see  it.  Is  she  to 
punish  him  for  her  own  blunderheaded  blindness? 

*'  Because  I  suggest  that  our  engagement  has 
not  brought  us  quite  all  we  hoped,  you  jump  at 
once  to  the  conclusion  that  I  want  to  break  it  off?  " 

"And  you  do  not?" 

The  quickened  breath  and  spurting  words  tell  of 
revived  hope,  and  bring  an  answering  repulsion  to 
the  girl. 

"  I  do  not  know  what  I  wish,"  she  says,  walking 
away  from  him  towards  the  window.  ''  I  want  to 
do  right." 

What  there  is  in  her  words  to  bring  it  there  she 
cannot  conceive,  but  his  arm  is  suddenly  round  her 
waist. 

"  If  it  is  a  question  of  conscience,  let  me  decide 
it  for  you,"  he  whispers  passionately.  "  You  used 
to  bring  your  difficulties  to  me  to  solve." 

The  allusion  is  an  unwise  one.  It  brings  before 
her  with  such  startling  prominence  the  change 
wrought  in  herself  since  the  state  of  things  to  which 
he  refers,  and  the  truth  of  which  she  cannot  deny. 

"  A  long  engagement  is  always  a  trying  thing," 
she  says,  moving  restlessly  in  the  encircling  ring  of 
clerical  broadcloth,  but  not  having  the  strength  of 
purpose  absolutely  to  elude  it;  ''  and  you  know  it 
is  your  own  fault  that  it  has  been  a  long  one.  I 
offered  to  marry  you  months  ago." 


FOES   IN    LAW  275 

"  Are  you  going  to  punish  me  for  having  had 
some  self-respect?  "  he  asks  in  a  passion  of  upbraid- 
ing, tightening  his  pressure,  the  pressure  that  had 
once  set  her  own  blood  answeringly  tingling — a 
recollection  that  enhances  her  present  rage  of  re- 
volt. 

"  It  is  no  question  of  punishment,"  she  answers, 
turning  her  head  right  over  her  own  shoulder  in 
flight  from  his  lips;  '*  but  of  late  we  seem  to  have 
influenced  each  other  for  ill  instead  of  good.  Marie 
is  a  case  in  point." 

An  excess  of  proximity  makes  it  difficult  to  de- 
liver a  homily  eflfectively,  and  it  is  with  a  surprise 
not  inferior  to  her  relief  that  at  this  stage  Lettice 
finds  herself  suddenly  set  free. 

"  We  have  been  too  much  in  sympathy  about 
her,"  she  continues  with  much  greater  fluency; 
"  we  have  egged  each  other  on  in  our  want  of 
charity  towards  her.  I  was  wrong  to  lay  all  the 
blame  on  you  just  now.  I  do  not  think  there  has 
been  a  pin  to  choose  between  us." 

He  receives  the  rebuke  thus  neatly  halved  in 
motionless  silence,  and  she  cannot  even  see  his 
face. 

"  For  that  and  for  other  reasons,"  she  goes  on, 
"  I  have  been  thinking  that  it  would  be  a  good 
thing — good  for  us  both,  I  mean — if — if — we  sepa- 
rated for  a  short  time." 

She  pauses,  tentatively  eyeing  him  to  see  how  he 
takes  this  cold  douche;  but  the  one  quarter  of  his 
face  within  eye-range  does  not  enlighten  her  much. 
She  thinks  he  gives  a  slight  start. 

"  It  need  not  be  for  long,"  she  goes  on,  ner- 
vously feeling  her  way — "  it  need  not  be  for  long. 


276  FOES   IN   LAW 

I  should  naturally  be  going  up  to  London  now. 
Nobody  would  think  it  odd;  it  would  create  no  re- 
mark." 

She  calls  a  halt,  but  in  vain.  "  There  is  neither 
voice,  nor  any  that  answered." 

"  And  when  I  come  back " 

He  wheels  round  upon  her,  and  at  once  the  full 
battery  of  his  eyes — wronged,  suspicious,  woeful, 
and  fulminating — is  playing  upon  her. 

"  And  when  you  come  back?  " 

The  voice  is  the  prophet's  voice  which  has  often 
made  the  flesh  of  the  female  members  of  the  Trent 
congregation  delightfully  and  awfully  creep. 

"  When  I  come  back,"  replies  Miss  Trent,  un- 
worthily and  baldly,  "  perhaps  things  will  be  more 
satisfactory." 

It  is  not  in  the  least  what  she  had  meant  to  say. 
The  thunder  is  gone  out  of  his  tones,  and  only  in- 
finite reproach  left,  when  next  he  speaks. 

"  And  you  are  going  to  leave  me  here  to  fight 
alone  against  all  the  malign  influences  that " 

She  bursts  into  uneasy  laughter.  "  Malign  in- 
fluences— here,  in  this  dear  little  Sleepy  Hollow?  " 

A  heavier  cloud  than  before  passes  over  his  face. 

"  In  Holy  Scripture,"  he  says,  "  the  devils  were 
inside  the  man,  not  outside." 

"  If  that  is  the  case,  he  would  carry  them  with 
him  wherever  he  went,"  replies  she,  sententiously, 
but  with  unanswerable  logic. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

On  the  evening  of  the  same  day — that  of  the  de- 
parture of  the  Trent  family — an  almost  incredible 
quietude  wraps  the  house.  Even  the  high  voice 
of  its  mistress,  generally  so  piercing  and  ubiqui- 
tous, IS  stilled.  Not  having  her  fellows  to  call  to, 
what  pleasure  is  there  in  shrieking?  The  sight  of 
the  microscopic  dinner-table  fills  her  eyes  with 
water;  and  Jim*s  brilliant  remark  of  what  a  differ- 
ence there  is  between  now  and  this  time  yesterday 
is  received  in  a  convulsed  silence.  She  has  heroic- 
ally kept  her  seat  all  through  dinner,  a  concession 
to  Jim  which  she  has  for  several  weeks  been  trying 
to  make,  but  whose  difficulty  on  the  present  occa- 
sion Lettice  perhaps  appreciates  even  more  than 
does  the  object  of  it. 

When  the  end  of  the  much-abbreviated  repast 
sets  her  free,  she  wanders  forlornly  about,  tenderly 
touching  the  back  of  the  chair  upon  which  Mr. 
Kergouet's  limp  head  had  rested,  surreptitiously 
kissing  the  paper-knife  with  which  he  had  cut  his 
evening  paper,  going  through  a  hundred  little  fool- 
ish, loving  antics. 

For  the  first  time  in  either  of  their  lives  a  feel- 
ing of  genuine  human  pity  towards  her  objection- 
able, and  though  they  get  above  their  boots  now 
heart. 

277 


278  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  We  are  certainly  very  dull,"  she  says,  when  the 
course  of  her  melancholy  flittings  brings  Marie 
near. 

The  words  are  brusquely  shot  out,  and  have  to 
be  severely  pushed  from  behind  in  order  to  get 
them  out  at  all;  and  their  veracity  is  not  unim- 
peachable, but  their  effect  is  immediate. 

"  Yes,  aren't  we?  "  cries  the  other,  eagerly,  drop- 
ping down,  with  her  astonishing  suppleness,  on  the 
carpet.  "  But " — with  a  rush  of  suspicion  and  a 
darkening  brow — "  I  suppose  you  meant  it  ironic- 
ally." 

"  No,  I  did  not.    I  do  feel  very  dull  to-night." 

This,  at  least,  is  gospel  truth. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  must  have  been  nearly  deaf- 
ened now  and  then,"  rejoins  the  other,  quite  re- 
assured, and  her  own  voice  beginning  to  lift  itself 
again  from  the  dust  of  its  dejected  extinction;  "  but 
though'their  voices  are  loud,  they  are  not  disagree- 
able, and  though  they  get  above  their  boots  now 
and  then " 

But  Miss  Trent  has  reached  the  end  of  her  Chris- 
tian tether;  to  acquiesce  in  encomiums  of  the  Miss 
Kergouets  is  still  beyond  her. 

"  Kept  well  in  hand,  and  with  proper  discipline," 
she  begins,  in  a  somewhat  preachy  key;  but  she  is 
not  suffered  to  proceed  far. 

*'  Proper  discipline!  Proper  fiddlesticks!  "  cries 
Marie,  leaping  up  and  making  off,  greatly  offended. 
So  the  olive  branch  is,  in  a  measure,  retracted. 

It  is  offered,  accepted,  and  dignifiedly  resumed 
or  pepperily  tossed  back  several  times  during  the 
ten  days  that  elapse  before  Lettice's  departure; 
but,  at  least,  there  has  been  a  question  of  it  between 


FOES   IN   LAW  279 

the  two  belligerents.  Marie  certainly  after  her 
family's  departure  has  less  patently  than  before  the 
end  in  view  of  making  Lettice  squirm,  by  the  vul- 
garity of  her  remarks,  before  the  servants;  nor  does 
she,  unless  under  great  provocation,  allude  to  "  the 
aristocracy."  On  the  other  hand,  Lettice's  sneers 
at  the  stage  are  reduced  to  an  average  of  six  a  day. 

It  is,  perhaps,  difficult  to  do  full  justice  to  a 
whole-hearted  dislike  of  two  people  at  once;  and 
probably  Miss  Trent's  reduced  animus  against  her 
foe  is  partly  due  to  the  daily  growing  repulsion  she 
feels  from  her  "  friend."  Yet  when  she  goes, 
drawing  long  breaths  of  relief  as  each  hoof-beat 
of  the  horses  that  draw  her  to  the  station  increases 
the  distance  between  her  and  his  lips  and  arms, 
she  is  still  chained  to  him.  How. can  she,  in  bare 
justice,  rive  that  now  eating  fetter?  What  answer 
that  could  satisfy  her  own  conscience  or  honour 
has  she  been  able  to  make  to  the  importunity  of 
his  questions? 

"  What  have  I  done?  How  am  I  different  from 
the  man  you  kissed?  Yes,  kissed  your  whole  soul 
into!  Never  has  any  woman  kissed  me  as  you  did. 
I  mean  " — correcting  himself — "  my  imagination 
is  not  strong  enough  to  picture  a  kiss  that  implied 
a  more  absolute  surrender  of  soul  and  body." 

She  shudders,  though  he  does  not  see  it;  head 
bent,  and  long  arms  hanging  at  her  side  in  utter 
self-abasement.  Yes,  it  is  true;  horribly,  degrad- 
ingly,  irrevocably  true!  Then  he  changes  his 
venue. 

"Who  needs  you  as  I  do?  Who  needs  you  at 
all,  except  me?  What  are  you  to  Jim  now?  Has 
not  that  Merry  Andrew,  that  rope-dancer " 


28o  FOES   IN   LAW 

She  puts  out  her  hand  with  a  gesture  of  disgust, 
in  peremptory  arrest. 

"Stop!"  she  says.  "We  have  had  more  than 
enough  of  this." 

He  accepts  her  rebuke  more  meekly  than  she 
had  expected,  and  then,  with  a  look  of  shame — 

"  You  are  right,"  he  says.  "  I  lose  my  balance, 
I  lose  my  head  when  I  think  of  the  way  in  which 
she  has  superseded  you  everywhere  but  here!" — 
striking  himself  on  the  heart;  "but  I  will  say  no 
more  about  her;  only  answer  me  truly.  Who  is 
there,  in  all  the  wide  world,  that  needs  you — really 
needs  you,  except  me?  And  do  /  not  need  you? 
Oh,  if  you  could  look  in  here! " — again  smiting 
himself  on  the  heart — "  and  see  how  much — how, 
beyond  the  poor-power  of  words  to  express,  how 
much!" 

Gestures  and  manner  may  belong  too  much  to 
the  decorated  order;  but  through  them  the  pene- 
trating voice  of  Truth  knells  in  her  ears.  He  does 
need  her.  There  can  be  no  doubt  of  that.  And,  as 
he  has  truly  said,  everywhere,  except  with  him,  she 
is  superseded. 

"  Come  back  to  me  soon — soon-y'  he  murmurs, 
passionately  kissing  the  revolted  pink  ear,  into 
which  he  whispers  his  parting  prayer,  "  my  rudder, 
my  conscience,  my  salvation!  " 

T*  #|t  ^  3|C  ^  ^ 

The  words  of  whose  adequacy  to  convey  his  own 
heart-throes  he  has  complained  are  quite  as  incom- 
petent to  express  how  glad  his  rudder,  his  con- 
science, and  his  salvation  are  to  drive  away  from 
him. 

It  is  April,  verging  on  May,  when  they  depart, 


FOES   IN    LAW  281 

but  September  has  come  ripely  in  before  they  re- 
turn to  take  up  their  triple  office.  Not  till  Miss 
Trent  gets  well  away  to  the  secure  haven  of  her 
aunt's  house  in  London  does  she  fully  realize  the 
enormity  of  the  relief  she  feels  at  her  escape.  For 
weeks,  at  least,  she  will  not  hear  the  odious  formula, 
"  Mr.  Chevening  is  in  the  boudoir,  'm;  he  has  been 
there  a  quarter  of  an  hour."  For  weeks  she  may 
bend  her  head  in  security  over  her  books,  without 
her  reluctant  nape  being  surprised  by  drops  of  fire 
from  a  burning  mouth  that  has  come  up  unawares 
behind  it.  For  weeks  her  waist  will  have  no  girdle 
but  its  cool  ribbon  one,  and  her  lips  will  be  as  much 
at  liberty  as  the  smutty  London  air,  which  they 
delightedly  inhale  at  the  thought. 

The  sensible  aunt  receives  her  with  her  usual 
level  goodwill,  asks  her  how  she  gets  on  with 
Marie,  and  whether  there  is  going  to  be  a  baby. 

The  speaker  answers  the  first  of  the  two  ques- 
tions herself. 

"  Not  that  it  matters  much  to  you  now  whether 
you  do  or  not,  as  I  suppose  you  will  be  marrying 
almost  directly  yourself.  Not  till  he  gets  a  living? 
And  is  he  likely  to  get  a  living?  I  hear  he  is  a 
wonderful  preacher.  Yes,  Madeline,  I  went  to  the 
Ladies'  Shirt  Company  about  the  muslin  blouses. 
They  say  you  must  have  two  dozen." 

This  last  utterance  is  addressed  to  one  of  her 
daughters,  who,  though  the  only  good-looking 
one,  has  perversely  elected  to  espouse  a  young  gen- 
tleman who  grows  wines,  that  few  people  have  as 
yet  been  found  thirsty  enough  to  drink,  in  a  South 
American  Republic,  and  is  now  being  accoutred  to 
accompany  him  thither. 


282  FOES   IN    LAW 

The  mother  has  snubbed  the  aspirant  as  long  as 
there  was  any  hope  in  snubbing,  and  has  then  with- 
out transition  or  apology  sensibly  taken  him  to  her 
breast.  To  the  rest  of  the  household  the  lovers  are 
as  unmixed  an  ill  as  permitted  lovers  are  and  must 
always  be  and  have  been. 

To  Lettice  they  are  a  theme  of  incessant  and 
almost  awful  wonder.  That  any  girl  should  wish 
to  be  alone  with  her  iiance  has  in  the  light  of  her 
own  experience  become  a  monstrous  improbability, 
but  that  she  should  commit  excesses  of  selfishness, 
want  of  consideration,  impatience,  and  ill  manners 
to  attain  that  end  strains  her  powers  of  belief  al- 
most to  bursting-point. 

The  discovery  that  a  like  course  of  conduct  is 
expected  of  herself  as  soon  as  Randal  shall  appear 
upon  the  scene  fills  her  with  such  confused  stupe- 
faction that  she  has  hardly  breath  left  to  protest. 
Of  what  use  to  protest,  since,  thank  Heaven,  in  the 
face  of  her  rigid  stipulation  to  the  contrary,  it  is 
impossible  that  her  betrothed  should  appear  on  the 
scene  to  make  apparent  to  her  relatives  what  a 
universe  separates  her  condition  from  that  of  the 
love-sick  Madeline.    But  in  this  she  is  mistaken. 

"  I  have  heard  from  Randal  that  he  is  coming 
up  to-day,"  she  says  one  morning,  appearing  at 
breakfast  with  a  very  cloudy  brow. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  replies  her  aunt,  with  cheerful 
resignation,  "the  blow  is  not  an  unexpected  one. 
The  girls  must  have  a  holiday.  Fraulein  must  visit 
her  friends,  and  you  must  have  the  schoolroom." 

"  Indeed  we  will  have  nothing  of  the  kind,"  re- 
plies the  niece,  with  indignant  precipitation.  "  We 
have  not  the  least  wish  to  be  alone.    I  mean,  we 


FOES   IN   LAW  283 

see  so  much  of  each  other  at  home,  and  it  is  not 
to  see  me  that  he  is  coming.  The  Duchess  of 
Swyndford  has  wired  for  him  to  recite  at  her  con- 
cert to-morrow.  I  suppose  one  of  her  performers 
has  fallen  through." 

"The  Duchess  of  Swyndford's  concert!  I  am 
glad  you  reminded  me  of  it.  She  made  me  take 
tickets.  What  a  tax  these  charitable  entertain- 
ments have  become!    So  he  is  to  recite  at  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Will  he  be  comic  or  tragic?  " 

'*  Oh,  tragic — profoundly  tragic." 

Miss  Trent  wonders  whether  her  relative  detects 
the  note  of  irony  so  plainly  perceptible  to  her  own 
ears  that  has  crept  into  her  voice.  That  relative's 
next  comfortable  utterance — "I  am  glad  of  that; 
comic  recitations  never  make  me  laugh,  but  tragic 
ones  sometimes  do  " — proves  that  she  has  not. 

Having  added  that  of  course  he  must  come  to 
dinner,  her  mind  returns  to  its  mazy  path  among 
mosquito  curtains  and  gauze  underclothing  by  the 
banks  of  the  River  Plate. 

Mr.  Chevening's  fiancee  cannot  be  said  to  receive 
him  with  effusion. 

"  This  is  against  the  bond,"  she  says  austerely, 
holding  out  her  hand  at  the  longest  stretch  of  a 
perfectly  straight  arm  to  ensure  a  safe  distance. 

He  answers  her  only  by  a  look  of  deprecating  re- 
proach, and  his  whole  air  is  so  agitated  that  her 
smitten  conscience,  or  what  she  takes  for  such, 
forces  a  milder  tone  into  her  voice. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  are  feeling  very  nervous.'' 

He  makes  a  mute  sign  with  the  head,  whether 
of  assent  or  protest  she  does  not  quite  understand. 


284  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  It  was  very  short  notice." 

The  implication  is  obvious. 

"You  mean  that  I  am  a  stop-gap,"  he  says, 
restored  to  speech  by  the  hint  and  palely  reddening. 
"  I  do  not  think  that  as  a  rule  I  am  wanting  in 
proper  pride,  but  I  did  not  see  that  this  was  a  case 
for  its  exercise.    The  excellence  of  the  object " 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course." 

The  recovered  apostledom  of  his  manner  re- 
stores the  steel  casing  to  her  heart.  Her  face  must 
be  steely  too,  judging  by  the  almost  tremulous 
doubtfulness  of  his  next  words. 

"  I  know  that  you  do  not  care  about  *  Ay, 
Mate! '  but  you  will  come  and  hear  me?  " 

"  Won't  it  make  you  worse — more  nervous — if 
you  know  that  I  am  there?  " 

The  question  is  regretted  as  soon  as  uttered, 
such  a  shower  of  rhetoric  does  it  bring  about  her 
ears  in  the  shape  of  a  fiery  torrent  of  asseveration 
that  she  is  his  rock,  his  bulwark,  that  it  is  only  the 
consciousness  of  having  the  aegis  of  her  strong 
presence  that  can  uphold  him  through  the  ordeal 
ahead  of  him. 

One  of  the  waves  of  contempt  for  which  she  has 
long  ceased  to  feel  remorse  washes  over  her,  but 
she  complies,  her  heart  leaden  at  the  thought  of 
how  dreadfully  he  needs  her. 

It  is  true  that  the  admiration  felt  by  Lettice  for 
the  piece  chosen  by  or  rather  for  her  lover — since 
it  was  Marie's  selection — has  always  been  of  the 
smallest;  yet  on  the  present  occasion  she  is  con- 
scious that  that  small  has  become  very  sensibly 
smaller.  It  seems  to  her  that  the  nervous  excite- 
ment of  the  reciter  has  made  him  exaggerate  and 


FOES   IN    LAW  285 

coarsen  every  point  of  what  had  been  at  Trent  a 
rendering  admirable  for  restraint  and  reserve 
power. 

As  she  looks  at  him  from  under  her  eye-lashes, 
while  as  the  virtuous  miner  he  hurls  his  denuncia- 
tion of  the  upper  classes  at  the  delighted  row  of 
peeresses  before  him,  his  betrothed  makes  a  queer 
inward  measurement  of  the  distance  covered  by  her 
since  Easter  in  her  travelling  away  from  Love. 
Then  she  had  congratulated  herself  on  feeling 
nervousness  lest  he  should  break  down.  Here 
and  now  would  not  she  in  her  heart  of  hearts  be 
rather  glad  that  some  signal  humiliation  should 
overtake  him? 

If,  indeed,  she  cherishes  such  a  wish,  it  is  not 
destined  to  be  gratified.  A  hyper-fashionable 
London  audience,  though  the  coldest  created  or 
conceivable,  is  not  as  a  rule  very  critical;  and 
though  much  too  lazy  to  express  admiration,  is 
quite  capable  of  feeling  it  enthusiastically  for  the 
second-rate  and  the  tawdry. 

Despite  the  inward  disparagement  of  it  by  his 
Hanceey  Chevening's  performance  cannot  be  justly 
classed  under  either  of  these  heads;  but  his  suc- 
cess— and  that  at  least  is  unquestionable — is  chiefly 
due  to  the  piquancy  of  the  contrast  between  the 
melancholy  distinction  of  his  appearance — his  high 
nose,  and  admirably  cut  mouth — and  the  furious 
Socialism  of  his  utterance.  He  is  new,  he  is  hand- 
some, and  he  has  told  the  fair  ones  bang  out  to 
their  very  faces,  in  a  strong,  if  not  very  accurate 
Yorkshire  accent,  that  they  are  no  better  than  they 
should  be!  What  more  can  be  needed  to  complete 
their  subjugation?     Naturally,  nothing.     Yet  the 


286  FOES   IN   LAW 

tribute  he  so  amply  reaps,  it  seems,  have  another 
added  to  them. 

"  How  did  you  thitik  it  went  off?  '*  he  asks,  when 
he  comes  to  bid  Lettice  good-bye  next  morning, 
the  cousins,  to  her  annoyance,  fleeing  before  him 
in  such  Passover  haste  as  not  even  to  have  time  to 
take  their  kneeling-troughs  with  them. 

She  had  contemned  his  over-night's  despond- 
ency as  cowardly,  but  she  disHkes  his  morning's 
jubilation  even  more. 

"Admirably!" 

"I  owe  it  all  to  you!"  he  cries,  with  exultant 
emotion.  "  If  you  had  not  been  there  I  do  not 
know  what  might  not  have  happened;  but  when  I 
caught  sight  of  your  anxious  face  " — her  eyebrows 
rise  imperceptibly — "  in  all  that  crowd  I  found  it 
in  one  second — I  said  to  myself,  *  She  shall  not  be 
ashamed  of  me! '  and — ^you  were  not?  " 

There  is  such  a  hunger  for  her  approbation  in 
the  eyes  that  the  great  ladies  had  found  so  expres- 
sive and  charming  that  she  is  ashamed  of  her  nig- 
gard ability  to  give.    Yet  it  remains  inability. 

"  You  were  not  ashamed  of  me?  "  he  repeats. 

"  Not  at  all."  ' 

"  Did  you  like  the  new  way  I  gave,  *  Thou'rt  a 
good  wench  '  ?  I  know  you  did  not  care  about  my 
first  reading  of  it.    Does  it  grow  upon  you  at  all?  " 

His  persistence  teases  her.  "  What  does  it  mat- 
ter if  it  does  not,"  she  cries  crossly,  "  when  I  am 
in  a  minority  of  one?  " 

"  It  is  because  I  am  new,  I  suppose,"  he  says, 
with  a  faint  smile  of  reminiscence,  and  a  modesty 
wliich  her  partiality  labels  as  "  mock."     "  Several 


FOES   IN   LAW  287 

people  have  asked  me  to  repeat  it  at  their  houses 
in  behalf  of  different  charities." 

Her  eye  rolls  wildly.  This  means  that  he  will 
be  running  up  again  repeatedly  in  reply  to  the  calls 
of  modish  philanthropy. 

*'  Do  not,"  she  says  brusquely. 

His  bright  countenance  clouds.  "  You  disap- 
prove?   You  are  adverse?  " 

"  I  do  not  want  you  to  dwindle  from  the  apostle 
I  once  thought  you  into  a  paltry  drawing-room 
reciter." 

This  is  the  nearest  approach  to  a  compliment  he 
can  extract  from  her,  and  as  she  always  manages 
to  get  behind  a  chair  when  he  approaches  her,  and 
relentlessly  reminds  him  of  "  the  bond,"  he  cannot 
be  said  to  have  been  much  the  gainer  by  his  breach 
of  contract. 


CHAPTER    XXII 

For  Miss  Trent  the  summer  passes  with  unex- 
ampled rapidity.  Usually  she  has  been  among  the 
earlier  departures  from  London;  among  those  to 
whom  town  pleasures  dwell  only  in  the  outskirts 
of  the  heart,  and  country  ones  at  its  very  centre. 
This  year  she  lingers  till  the  end  of  all  things,  till 
the  wood  pavement  smells  intolerably,  and  noth- 
ing but  caretakers  and  M.P.'s  are  left. 

Miss  Trent*s  aunt  is  one  of  the  few  wives  who  do 
not  desert  their  toiling  legislators,  so  she  has  the 
excuse  of  staying  on  with  her.  Yachting  is  per- 
fectly indifferent  to  her,  yet  she  goes  to  Cowes. 
Her  garden  has  always  hitherto  seemed  preferable 
to  the  moors,  yet  she  pays  visits  in  Scotland.  Any- 
thing, anything  to  stave  off  the  unavoidable  return, 
the  unescapable  decision. 

Randal  has  not  again  transgressed  against  the 
bond,  though  once  or  twice  she  hears  of  him 
obliquely  as  in  London,  and  "  Ay,  Mateing  " — al- 
ways with  a  buzz  of  applause  about  his  name — at 
various  great  houses.  Since  correspondence  has 
been  forbidden  by  her  equally  with  personal  inter- 
course, she  cannot  blame  him  for  not  imparting  his 
triumphs  to  her.  She  will  doubtless  hear  plenty 
about  them  soon  now. 

This  is  one  of  the  oppressive  thoughts — quite  a 

388 


FOES   IN    LAW  289 

minor  one — that  pass  through  the  head  which  she 
reluctantly  lifts  from  her  pillow  at  the  hotel  at 
Perth  on  the  morning  appointed  for  her  return  to 
Trent. 

It  would  be  bad  enough  to  be  going  back  to  the 
same  state  of  things  as  she  had  left  there;  but  how 
incomparably  have  her  prospects  worsened  since 
her  departure!  One  on  the  top  of  another,  and  all 
within  the  last  week,  swift  and  cruel  as  Job's  mes- 
sengers, the  baleful  tidings  have  battered  her  con- 
sternated ears.  Firstly,  in  a  newspaper  casually 
picked  up,  her  eye,  glancing  over  the  "  Deaths," 
takes  in  the  announcement  that  old  Mr.  Grant  of 
Appleton  has  had  his  third  stroke,  and  succumbed 
to  it.  Secondly,  the  post  brings  her  a  note,  almost 
illegible  through  excitement,  from  Randal  himself, 
to  tell  her  that  he  has  just  been  informed  by  the 
lawyer  of  an  unknown  old  lady,  lately  deceased, 
that  in  gratitude  for  the  benefit  her  soul  has  de- 
rived from  his  Advent  Sermons  she  has  left  him 
£30,000  at  present  invested  in  2J  per  cent.  Con- 
sols. Lastly  and  worstly — if  in  such  ills  there  can 
be  a  worst — a  wire — no  other  means  can  convey 
such  news  fast  enough — informs  her  that  Cheve- 
ning  has  been  offered  the  incumbency  of  a  fashion- 
able Mayfair  chapel. 

She  twists  the  pink  paper  of  the  telegram  about 
in  her  hands,  smiling  sardonically.  Thirty  thou- 
sand pounds  in  Consols,  and  a  chapel  in  Mayfair! 
On  the  whole  and  nicely  balanced,  whicl>  has  been 
most  lucrative,  the  pulpit  eloquence  or  the  draw- 
ing-room rant? 

The  question  is  not  decided  in  her  turbid  mind 
when,  towards  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  of  a 


29©  FOES   IN   LAW 

noble  September  day,  the  carriage  sent  to  fetch  her 
turns  in  at  the  Trent  lodge  gates. 

Memory  recalls  her  last  return,  the  evergreen 
arches  and  beribboned  poles,  erected  to  glorify 
that  marriage  which  she  had  resented  with  a  vigour 
of  bitterness  that  now  seems  disproportioned  to  the 
cause.  Will  there  be  poles  and  arches  for  her  and 
Randal? 

The  house  has  come  in  sight  by  now,  and  she 
rubs  her  eyes.  Is  this  the  answer  to  her  acrid,  in- 
ward question?  Over  the  last  gate  there  is  an  arch 
of  summer  boughs,  blossom-decked  between,  and 
bearing  on  its  summit  in  large  red  letters  on  a  white 
ground  the  inscription  "  Welcome  home!  " 

A  slight  pang  shoots  across  her.  The  Ker- 
gouets  must  be  here  again.  The  trophy  has  been 
put  up  in  their  honour.  "  Welcome  home  "  indeed! 
Well,  that  is  something  like  impertinence! 

The  hall,  when  she  enters  it,  is  empty,  and  the 
servants  tell  her  that  the  whole  of  the  party  are  out 
on  the  cricket-ground;  and  thither  she  presently 
pursues  them.  The  way  leads  through  the  flower- 
garden,  on  which,  after  the  strenuous  heat  of  the 
day,  the  dews  are  beginning  their  noiseless  fall. 

She  stops  to  admire  the  arrangement  of  colour 
that  had  been  the  result  of  her  own  taste — the 
superb  cannas;  the  stalwart  Hyacinthus  candicans, 
that  show  what  lilies-of-the-valley  would  be  if  they 
grew  in  Brobdingnag;  the  flagged  glory  of  glad- 
ioli; the  splendid  geraniums,  arched  and  trained 
over  wickerwork  till  they  simulate  hillocks  of  scar- 
let and  rose — everything  that  is  blazing,  feathery, 
aromatic. 

She  moves  through  it  all  with  a  creator's  com- 


FOES   IN   LAW  391 

placency.  The  garden  is  even  better  than  it  was 
last  year.  Above  it  the  sky  arches,  imitating  its 
gaudiness  in  the  tints  of  her  westward  fires,  and 
flinging  little  plumes  of  carnation  unexpectedly 
high  and  far  into  the  empyrean. 

She  walks  through  a  world  of  blessed  suavity, 
fragrance,  cool  hush;  and  as  she  does  so  the  boon 
air  wraps  her  round  in  a  mantle  of  peace,  and  the 
little  jar  caused  by  the  arch  and  its  inscription  dies 
out.  It  would  be  pleasant  to  come  home,  and  to 
design  such  another  garden  for  next  year,  if 
only 

The  "  if  only  '*  does  not  apply  to  Marie  this 
time. 

The  cricket-ground  lies  in  the  park,  not  far  out- 
side the  garden  bounds,  from  which  a  belt  of  shrub- 
bery hides  It.  It  is  her  ear  which  first  informs  her 
that  she  is  nearing  the  objects  of  her  quest. 

Yes,  the  Kergouets  are  here.  That  squeal  is 
unquestionably  Louisas,  and  Sybil  is  pinching  him. 
The  verification  of  her  forebodings  does  not  annoy 
her  nearly  so  much  as  she  would  have  expected.  In 
fact,  the  memory  of  the  young  Kergouets'  habitual 
bursting  into  her  sanctum  and  destroying  its  pri- 
vacy flashes  across  her  with  a  sense  of  relief.  In 
the  future,  as  in  the  past,  these  vulgar  romps  may 
be  her  best  aegis. 

The  match  is  over,  and  the  stumps  drawn,  as  the 
little  stream  of  people,  advancing  from  the  tent 
where  Lettice  herself  has  so  often  sat  scoring 
through  a  summer  day,  proves. 

The  two  girls  are  the  first  to  espy  her,  and,  gal- 
loping up,  fling  themselves  upon  her  with  a  shock 
of  affection  so  violent  as  almost  to  bring  her  to 


aga  FOES   IN   LAW 

earth;  Louis  tries  to  kiss  her  hand,  for  which  mark 
of  civility  he  is  at  once  counselled  by  his  sisters  to 
"  get  out;  "  and  little  Frank  more  successfully  at- 
tains her  neck. 

By  this  time  the  rest  of  the  party  have  come  up. 
Marie  drops  the  arm  of  a  man  in  flannels — who  is 
not  Jim — to  wave  a  shut  parasol  round  her  head  as 
a  sign  of  welcome  which  her  sister-in-law  doubt- 
fully hopes  is  not  ironical,  and  Jim  says — 

"  Here  you  are!  " 

Here  she  is  undoubtedly. 

Gabriel  says  nothing,  and  takes  off  his  straw  hat. 
Each  one  having  greeted  the  newcomer  in  his  or 
her  fashion,  there  is  a  little  pause. 

"  How  long  have  you  been  here?  "  Miss  Trent 
asks  of  one  of  her  still  closely  attendant  nymphs, 
more  for  the  sake  of  breaking  a  silence  which 
makes  her  feel  unaccountably  shy  than  for  any 
other  reason. 

"  How  long?  "  repeats  Muriel,  heaving  a  colossal 
sigh.  "  Oh,  do  not  let  us  count;  it  makes  it  go 
faster  if  we  count." 

"  We  have  arrived  exactly  a  week  ago/*  says 
Louis,  Frenchily. 

"  A  week !    Then  how  fresh  your  arch  has  kept !  " 

"  Our  arch?  " — in  several  voices. 

"  Yes,  the  one  over  the  gate  near  the  hall  door." 

"  But  that  is  your  arch,"  bursts  out  Sybil,  while 
her  juniors  follow  suit  with  the  same  words.  "  We 
put  it  up  in  honour  of  you.    Marie  made  us." 

"  Marie! " 

The  recipient  of  this  most  unexpected  honour 
cannot  help  the  stupefaction  of  her  voice,  nor  stifle 
the  prick  of  remorse  at  her  own  angry  inward  com- 


FOES   IN   LAW  ^      293 

ment  upon  the  impertinence  of  the  "  Welcome 
home."  It  was  to  her,  then,  that  these  words  were 
addressed. 

"  It  kept  the  children  out  of  mischief,  and — and 
it  was  chiefly  Gabriel's  idea,"  replies  Mrs.  Trent, 
with  a  most  unwontedly  sheepish  air,  and,  for  the 
first  time  in  Miss  Trent's  knowledge  of  her,  look- 
ing thoroughly  out  of  countenance. 

Lettice  stands  for  a  moment  dumbfounded;  then, 
seeing  a  look  of  upbraiding  negation  shoot  from 
the  brother's  dark  eyes  towards  his  sister,  she  yields 
to  a  sudden  impulse. 

"  I  do  not  believe  it.  I  believe  that  it  was  a  kind 
thought  of  your  own,"  she  says,  and  so  steps  up 
and  kisses  her. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  say  whether  the  giver  or 
receiver  of  this  caress  is  most  covered  with  con- 
fusion by  it.  They  all  move  on  homewards,  the 
young  ones  skirmishing  ahead,  around  on  the 
wings,  everywhere,  bear-fighting,  boxing,  yelling 
in  their  best  manner.  But  Lettice  only  puts  her 
hands  to  her  ears  good-humouredly  once  or  twice. 

Marie  has  taken  possession  again  of  her  brother's 
arm — that  arm  which  his  family  work  so  merci- 
lessly hard — takes  it  with  a  little  jealous  air  of 
monopoly  which  makes  Miss  Trent  ask  herself  with 
a  slight  inward  writhing  of  the  spirit,  '*  Does  she 
imagine  that  I  am  likely  to  make  any  claim  upon 
it?  "  But  she  checks  the  nascent  hostility  of  the 
thought.  This  is  the  truce  of  God,  and  she  will  do 
nothing  to  break  it.  It  is  not  broken  even  a  little 
later,  when  the  returned  wanderer  asks  after  Lulu, 
missing  her  sister-in-law's  little  wheezy  appendage 
for  the  first  time. 


294  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  Lulu  is  not  here/'  replies  Marie,  shortly,  turn- 
ing away  her  face. 

"  Not  here?  " 

"  She  will  never  vex  you  again  by  walking  about 
the  dinner-table,"  returns  the  other,  flashing  round 
in  tearful  anger  at  Lettice's  slowness  of  compre- 
hension. 

The  latter  does  not  take  up  the  grossly  un- 
provoked challenge.  On  the  contrary,  a  pang  of 
remorse  shoots  across  her.  So  the  poor  old  pro- 
fessional beauty  is  dead.  Miss  Trent  has  had  dear 
dogs  of  her  own  to  mourn,  and  it  is  a  grief  that  she 
can  well  enter  into.  But  Marie  will  never  believe 
in  her  regret  in  the  face  of  all  the  unkind  comments 
she  had  put  into  Kirstie's  muzzled  mouth  upon  the 
departed.  It  is  therefore  to  Gabriel  that  she  nat- 
urally turns  with  the  ejaculation — 

"  Poor  dear  Lulu!    I  am  so  sorry!  " 

There  is  a  sound  of  light  flying  steps — they  are 
in  the  hall  by  this  time — and  Marie  is  gone. 

"  She  cannot  yet  bear  to  hear  the  poor  old  dog 
mentioned,"  says  Gabriel,  half  apologetically. 
"  You  see,  it  was  our  mother's." 

His  voice  sinks  reverently  as  he  names  the  dead 
frailty  who  had  been  so  well  loved.  Two  tears 
stand  in  the  girl's  eyes. 

"  I  wish  you  could  make  her  believe  that  I  am 
sorry." 

The  thought  flashes  across  his  memory  of  how 
at  Wimbledon  he  had  made  her  weep.  Then  he 
had  not  seen  her  tears,  she  had  only  told  him  of 
them;  now  they  shine  before  him,  like  dew  on  vio- 
lets. How  infinitely  that  moist  compassion  be- 
comes her! 


FOES  IN  LAW  295 

"  I  am  sure  that  you  were  never  unkind  to  her," 
he  says,  gravely  consoling. 

She  shakes  her  head,  unalterably  sleek  and  neat 
after  a  whole  day's  dusty  wayfaring. 

*'  I  made  Kirstie  the  mouthpiece  of  my  own  ill 
nature  about  her." 

They  both  laugh  a  little  over  this  confession  of 
crime.  Then,  the  friendly  topic  exhausted,  there 
falls  a  silence  between  them. 

The  intensity  of  his  admiration  for  her  has  al- 
ways made  him  shy  of  her,  and  now  he  catches  at 
any  speech  lest  she  should  find  his  dumbness  too 
eloquent. 

"  I  am  afraid  you  will  not  credit  it,  but  the  put- 
ting up  that  arch  really  was  entirely  Marie's  idea." 

"  Is  it  possible?  " 

There  is  an  almost  awed  incredulity  in  her  voice, 
which  to  any  one  unacquainted  with  the  circum- 
stances would  seem  absurdly  out  of  proportion  to 
the  cause. 

"  Indeed  it  is.  She  was  exceedingly  keen  about 
it;  it  was  all  her  own  thought." 

His  asseveration  is  so  extremely  earnest  that  a 
spice  of  humour  which  in  anybody  else  would  be 
coquetry  flavours  her  rejoinder. 

"  You  repudiate  all  the  share  she  tried  to  saddle 
you  with  in  the  welcome." 

For  the  life  of  him  he  cannot  help  looking  full  at 
her  for  one  moment  in  answer,  and  the  rebuke — ^for 
it  is  one — sends  her  hurrying  on. 

"  Then  why  did  she  deny  it?  " 

He  looks  down  reflectively,  and  there  is  a  touch 
of  pitying  tenderness  in  his  voice. 

"  Poor  Marie !  I  think  she  was  ashamed  to  own 
it." 


296  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  It  is  always  our  good  actions  of  which  we  are 
ashamed/'  replies  she,  with  a  streak  of  her  pet 
preachiness,  which  is  redeemed  by  the  April  smile 
that  conveys  the  truism. 

Miss  Trent  has  not  thought  it  necessary  to  in- 
form her  betrothed  of  the  exact  day  of  her  return 
home,  nor  has  any  one^  yet  mentioned  him.  She 
can  hardly  believe  in  her  own  good  fortune  when, 
coming  down  to  dinner,  she  looks  round  the  draw- 
ing-room apprehensively,  but  sees  no  trace  of  the 
long  black  figure  and  the  passionate  white  face, 
which  duHng  the  last  six  months  have  turned  for 
her  from  a  dream  to  a  nightmare. 

"  Is — any  one  coming  to  dinner?  **  she  asks, 
rather  consciously  of  Marie,  who,  astonishing  to  re- 
late, is  already  down  and  flitting  restlessly  about. 

At  first  Lettice  thinks  her  sister-in-law  cannot 
have  heard  the  question,  for  there  is  a  few  seconds' 
delay  before  her  nonchalant  answer  comes. 

"  Do  you  mean  the  Taylors?  No,  she  has  got 
a  heady  and  Mr.  Taylor — poor  man,  there  had  been 
such  a  long  interval  since  the  last  that  he  was  be- 
ginning to  be  afraid  his  glory  had  departed — would 
not  leave  her." 

She  laughs  with  averted  face. 

"  You  were  not  thinking  of  the  Taylors,  I  ex- 
pect," says  Jim,  sagaciously;  **  you  meant  Cheve- 
ning?  Of  course  you  told  him  you  were  coming 
home  to-day?  " 

His  sister's  guilty  head  shakes  almost  imper- 
ceptibly. Her  guilty  eye  meets  another,  not  her 
brother's,  an  eye  full  of  what  cannot  really  be  the 
apprehension  it  looks  like. 

"  Oh,  that  accounts  for  it,"  rejoins  Jim,  with  not 
much   attempt   to   disguise   his   astonishment   at 


FOES  IN   LAW  297 

methods  of  courtship  so  widely  different  from  what 
had  been  his  own.  ''  I  thought  the  vicar  must  be 
mistaken  when  he  told  me  Randal  had  chosen  to- 
day to  run  over  to  Swyndford  to  thank  the 
duchess.'^ 

"  What  have  you  done  to  your  thumb?  "  breaks 
in  Marie,  coming  to  a  brusque  halt  before  her  sis- 
ter Sybil,  one  of  whose  members  is  tied  up  in  a  way 
that  betrays  its  having  been  in  the  wars. 

"  I  sliced  a  bit  of  the  top  of  it  off  cutting  a  tur- 
nip," replies  the  young  creature,  with  the  most 
unaffected  indifference. 

"  She  is  obstinate  to  eat  raw  turnips  and  car- 
rots," cries  Louis,  flushing  with  pleasure  at  this 
opportunity  of  showing  up  his  persecutor-in-chief, 
**  although  Mr.  Haines  tells  her  that  if  she  persists 
she  will  be  full  of  worms." 

His  sister  regards  him  with  an  eye  promissory  oi 
future  payment  in  full. 

"  That  is  what  I  wish,"  she  says  resolutely.  "  I 
wish  to  be  full  of  worms." 

This  appalling  sentiment  gains  a  well-deserved 
box  on  the  ear  for  the  wounded  heroine  from  her 
married  sister,  and  Louis  obtains  a  milder  form  of 
the  same  recompense  from  his  elder  brother,  and 
then  they  all  troop  into  dinner,  nobody  a  penny  the 
worse. 

The  Kergouets  always  eat  and  drink  to  the 
sound  of  their  own  loud  trumpets  and  shawms;  nor 
is  the  family  music  at  all  deteriorated  in  quantity 
or  quality  since  Lettice  last  heard  it.  Through 
the  customary  din  she  finds  some  difficulty  in  mak- 
ing Jim  hear  the  numerous  questions  that  his  own 
badness  and  Marie's  non-existence  as  a  corre- 


398  FOES   IN   LAW 

spondent  impel  her  to  ask  as  to  the  couple's  his- 
tory since  she  parted  from  them.  That  they  had 
had  a  spell  of  London,  shortened  by  Marie's  having 
racketed  herself  into  illness,  she  already  knows; 
but  there  are  naturally  many  details  to  be  filled  in, 
and  in  order  to  obtain  information  upon  them  she 
presently  finds  herself  bawling  almost  to  the  dia- 
pason of  the  rest  of  the  company.  Her  inquiries 
as  to  the  one  absent  member  of  her  in-law's  family 
she  purposely  addresses  to  that  "  in-law  "  herself. 

*'  How  and  where  is "    She  hesitates  for  a 

second.  A  perverse  pride  has  always  hitherto  pre- 
vented her  speaking  of  or  to  Esmeralda  by  her 
Christian  name;  to  inquire  after  her  now  as  "  Miss 
Kergouet "  would  be  to  break  the  truce  of  God. 
A  blessed  evasion  occurs  to  her  just  in  time.  "How 
is  Miss  Poppy  Delafield?  " 

There  could  not  have  been  a  happier  question. 
All  except  Gabriel  answer  at  once. 

"  She  is  touring  in  the  provinces  with  Crawley. 
He  has  giveti  her  the  juvenile  lead.  She  is  playing 
at  Glasgow  to  crowded  houses.  She  has  had  won- 
derful press  notices.  Marie  has  pasted  them  all  into 
a  book;  Lettice  shall  be  shown  them  after  dinner." 

This  last  piece  of  information,  with  its  appended 
promise,  is  uttered  only  by  the  juniors;  nor  can 
Marie  tame  her  excited  high  voice  enough  to  hin- 
der Miss  Trent  from  plainly  overhearing  the  "  You 
shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind;  she  would  not  care  a 
straw  about  them,"  which  is  meant  to  be  a  whis- 
pered rebuke  to  the  too  expansive  maidens. 

"I  do  not  call  that  kind  of  Marie,"  says  Miss 
Trent,  turning  with  a  heightened  colour  to  her 
left-hand  neighbour,  Marie's  eldest  brother.     "  I 


FOES   IN   LAW  299 

should  like  to  see  them.  They  " — with  a  little 
touch  of  malice — '*  would  remind  me  of  Miss 
Snevellici  and  Miss  Ledrook." 

"  Do  you  call  that  quite  kind?  "  he  retorts,  with 
an  answering  spirit  for  which  she  does  not  think  the 
worse  of  him. 

This  is  the  nearest  approach  to  a  crack  that  the 
truce  of  God  receives  throughout  the  evening. 

"  We  have  seen  next  to  nothing  of  Randal 
lately,"  says  Jim,  stirred  into  more  communica- 
tiveness than  usual  by  the  little  fillip  of  his  sister's 
advent,  "  except  in  the  pulpit,  where  he  has  been 
giving  us  some  pretty  stiff  pieces  of  his  mind  " — 
with  a  comfortable  laugh.  "  He  is  a  queer  chap. 
When  first  we  came  down  he  was  never  out  of  the 
house,  morning,  noon,  or  night,  was  he,  Marie?  " 

Mrs.  Trent's  elbows  are,  as  is  her  usual  culpable 
fashion,  on  the  dinner-table,  and  instead  of  answer- 
ing she  lays  one  cheek  on  her  folded  hands,  and 
turns  completely  sideways  towards  her  father. 

Jim  repeats  the  appeal  as  he  always  does  in  the 
case  of  his  fly-away  partner,  slowly  and  patiently 
until  she  answers  him. 

'*  Was  he,  Marie?" 

His  wife  jerks  herself  round.  "  I  did  not  hear 
what  you  were  talking  about;  "  then  resolutely  re- 
buries  herself  in  conversation  with  her  parent. 

"Why  did  she  say  that  ?"  asks  Lettice  of  Gabriel, 
her  blue  eyes  widely  opened  in  astonishment  at  so 
gratuitous  a  lie.    "  She  heard  perfectly." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

She  does  not  exactly  repeat  the  question  to  him 
later  in  the  evening  when  he  joins  her  on  the  gar- 
den bench,  to  which  the  excessive  beauty  of  the 
night  has  guided  her. 

The  young  Kergouets  always  consider  that  time 
spent  in  sleep,  time  spent  in  study,  time  spent  in- 
doors, and  time  misspent  are  synonyms.  They 
have  flung  themselves  into  the  perfumed  twilight 
the  moment  that  the  end  of  dinner,  abridged  by 
them  with  Bohemian  ease,  lets  them  loose. 

Lettice  had  not  expected  to  be  joined  by  Gabriel, 
whom  she  had  imagined  pinned  for  the  evening  to 
a  reading-lamp,  the  papers,  and  his  father. 

"  You  have  skimped  your  duties,"  she  says  to 
him,  letting  fall  the  arms  which  have  been  lifted  to 
clasp  hands  behind  her  head,  and  sitting  up,  being 
much  too  conventional  to  loll  except  in  solitude; 
but  there  is  nothing  unwelcoming  in  her  tone. 

"  He  went  to  bed;  the  heat  tires  him." 

The  young  man  gives  the  little  piece  of  informa- 
tion with  no  indication,  as  Marie  would  certainly 
have  done,  of  being  aware  that  it  will  not  interest 
the  person  to  whom  it  is  addressed,  and  Miss 
Trent  is  determined  not  to  be  behindhand  in  mag- 
nanimous politeness. 

"  He  looks  better  than  he  did  at  Easter.  I  have 
been  telling  him  so." 

Their  eyes  meet  in  the  moonlight,  hers  rather 

300 


FOES  IN   LAW  30t 

ashamed  of  her  condescension,  his  trying  not  to 
betray  how  plainly  he  sees  her  wings  growing. 
They  sit  silent  for  a  moment  or  two,  she  absently 
marvelling  at  the  moonlit  stature  of  the  Harrisi 
lilies,  he  with  head  thrown  back,  and  absently  stray- 
ing among  the  planets. 

The  girl's  voice  has  an  uncertain  note  in  it  when 
she  next  speaks. 

"  Has  it  ever  struck  you  that  Marie  is — ^not — 
very  fond  of — Randal?  " 

She  jibs  at  the  Christian  name;  yet  to  call  her 
avowed  fiance  "  Mr.  Chevening  '*  would  be  to 
smack  too  much  of  the  vicaress  and  her  incorrigi- 
ble "  Mr.  Taylor." 

His  answer,  when  it  comes,  seems  scarcely  worth' 
the  thinking  over  he  spends  on  it  before  it  appears. 

"What  has  given  you  that  impression  to-night 
especially?  " 

"  You  noticed  her  manner  at  dinner?  '*  she  an- 
swers shortly. 

Again  he  pauses,  head  still  thrown  back,  and  eyes 
travelling  along  the  Milky  Way. 

"  Even  supposing  that  she  does  not,  will  it  aflFect 
you  very  much  in  the  future?  " 

Lettice  laughs  dryly.  "  You  mean  that  there 
would  be  a  want  of  balance  in  her  preferring  the 
husband  to  the  wife;  that  it  is  better  that  her  par- 
tiality should  be  evenly  divided  between  us!" 

He  turns  round  upon  her  with  Marie's  own  swift 
ire. 

"  That  speech  is  in  your  earlier  manner." 

She  accepts  his  rebuke  with  a  repentant  gentle- 
ness unlike  herself. 

"  Yes,"  she  says,  "  you  are  right,  and  a  very  dis- 


302  FOES   IN   LAW 

agreeable  manner  it  was,  too;  and  what  is  more, 
it  does  not  at  all  represent  my  real  attitude  of  mind. 
To-night  " — looking  slowly  round,  and  opening 
her  nostrils  luxuriously  to  take  in  the  universal 
fragrance — "  I  feel  in  love  and  charity  with  every- 
body— almost." 

His  heart  throbs  wildly  at  the  limiting  adverb. 
To  whom  is  her  mental  application  of  it? 

"  Almost! "  he  repeats  half  under  his  breath. 

"  Yes/'  she  answers.  "  You  know  that  there 
never  yet  was  an  amnesty  without  its  exceptions." 

Her  clear  eye  glitters  sternly  in  the  silvered  light. 
He  cannot  know  what  a  potent  temptation  is  as- 
saiHng  her  to  tell  him  who  the  exception  is.  She 
will  not  do  it,  and  to-morrow  morning  the  idea 
will  look  incredible;  but  to-night,  here  among  the 
unearthly  lilies,  there  is  untold  ease  and  reUef  in 
the  mere  thought  of  its  possibility. 

"  I  must  apologize;  but  you  cannot  object  to  my 
coming  up  so  late  once  in  a  way." 

Both  interlocutors  start  violently.  Neither  has 
heard  the  step  of  a  man — he  must  have  crossed  the 
noiseless  grass  instead  of  the  creaky  pebbles — com- 
ing up  behind  them.  Has  he  suddenly  appeared  to 
rescue  himself  from  the  ignominy  of  those  lower- 
ing confidences  about  him?  Can  he  have  overheard 
them,  though  unuttered?  Is  that  the  explanation 
of  the  start  he,  too,  gives — a  start  superior  in  vio- 
lence to  their  own — as  he  ranges  up  opposite  them? 

"  Lettice! " 

"  Why  such  surprise? "  she  asks,  the  sudden 
shock  of  his  bodily  presence  lending  a  tremulous 
tartness  to  her  greeting.  "  Did  you  think  it  was 
my  ghost?  " 


FOES   IN   LAW  303 

Inwardly  she  is  saying,  "  Thank  God  he  did  not 
find  me  alone  here  in  the  moonhght!  Thank  God 
that  Gabriel  is  here!  " 

"  I — I  did  not  know  that  you  were  back,"  says 
Chevening,  with  an  apparently  uncontrollable  agi- 
tation which  his  lady-love  attributes  to  the  com- 
panionship in  which  he  has  found  her.  "  You  never 
told  me." 

His  voice  drops  as  if  to  rescue  the  reproach  from 
the  intrusive  ears  of  the  third  person. 

"  For  whom  did  you  take  me?  "  asks  she,  hur- 
riedly, having  no  very  good  answer  for  his  upbraid- 
ing. **  To  whom  did  you  think  you  were  apologiz- 
ing— to  Marie?  " 

Randal  is  apparently  too  much  occupied  in  con- 
veying by  his  always  expressive  eyes  to  the  other 
young  man  that  he  considers  him  to  belong  to  the 
grand  old  Norman  family  of  De  Trop  to  answer. 

Gabriel  takes  the  hint,  not  because  he  is  at  all 
frightened  by  the  curate's  scowl,  but  because  he  is 
a  believer  in  fair  play. 

Lettice  sees  him  go  with  a  sinking  heart.  In- 
voluntarily she  sketches  a  movement  towards  en- 
trenching herself  in  the  corner  of  the  seat,  by  piling 
the  superfluous  wraps  which  the  servants  have 
brought  out  on  the  space  beside  her. 

"  Is  it  against  me  that  you  are  building  up  that 
barrier?  "  he  asks,  with  an  odd  laugh.  "  Why  did 
not  you  erect  it  a  little  earlier?  " 

She  rears  her  throat  in  silent  scorn  of  the  in- 
sinuation. 

"  It  is  as  little  necessary  now  as  it  was  a  quarter 
of  an  hour  ago,"  he  says,  with  an  indignation  which 


304  FOES   IN   LAW 

she  cannot  but  own  has  a  certain  just  basis.  "I 
force  my  caresses  upon  no  one/' 

Doubtless  it  is  but  a  trick  of  her  own  shamed 
imagination;  but  Miss  Trent  reads  in  this  speech 
a  reference  to  the  time  when  her  caresses  were 
forced  upon  him.  Humbled,  as  always,  by  any 
allusion  to  that  dreadful  epoch,  she  holds  out  a 
troubled  olive  branch. 

"  I  should  have  let  you  know  the  date  of  my 
return,  only  that  I  felt  sure  you  would  learn  it 
here." 

"  I  have  not  been  near  the  place  for  a  week,"  he 
answers  sullenly.    "  What  should  bring  me  here?" 

The  recollection  of  her  brother's  phrase,  "  morn- 
ing, noon,  and  night,"  as  applied  to  the  earlier  part 
of  Lettice's  absence,  flashes  back  on  her  puzzled 
mind. 

"  Jim  said  that  of  late  they  had  not  seen  much 
of  you;  but  that  previously  you  had  been  here  a 
good  deal." 

The  young  man  has  sat  down,  contracting  him- 
self ostentatiously  into  the  opposite  corner  of  the 
seat.  He  stoops  now  to  pick  up  a  pebble  and  aim 
it  viciously  at  one  of  the  noiseless  winged  denizens 
of  the  night,  as  it  swoops  by  in  that  unpleasant  and 
unasked  proximity  which  characterizes  the  fiitter- 
mouse. 

"  I  suppose,"  he  says  unreadily,  "  that  we  are 
all  prone  to  haunt  the  spots  where  our  best  hopes 
lived  and  died." 

The  key  is  one  of  deep  but  unreproachful  melan- 
choly. And  a  pair  of  pincers,  as  so  often  before, 
takes  a  nip  out  of  her  conscience.  She  was  that 
best  hope.     It  is  to  her  grave  that  he  hM  been 


FOES   IN   LAW  305 

bringing  the  funeral  flowers  of  his  wilted  hep.rt, 
and  acrid  memories!  "  Morning,  noon,  and  night." 
Poor,  poor  Randal! 

"  I  have  been  away  from  home  too." 

"  Yes,"  she  cries,  making  a  great  effort  to  lift 
the  conversation  up  into  a  lighter  and  less  oppres- 
sive zone,  "  I  know.  You  have  been  returning 
thanks  for  one  of  your  many  new  blessings.  What 
a  cornucopia!  " — holding  up  her  hands,  then  begin- 
ning to  check  ofif  on  her  fingers.    "  Appleton." 

"  You  may  leave  Appleton  out,"  he  says  con- 
temptuously. "  I  have  at  least  escaped  that  form 
of  decent  sepulture." 

"  You  have  refused  it?  " 

"  Absolutely." 

**And  Tyburn  Chapel?  You  have  not  refused 
that?  " 

She  cannot  help  the  satiric  touch,  which  he, 
being  unfortunately  over-well  versed  in  her  tones, 
instantly  detects. 

"Why  should  I?" 

"Why  indeed?" 

She  leans  her  head  back  on  the  bench,  as  Gabriel 
had  done,  and  her  troubled  eyes  travel  along  the 
same  star-sown  highway  as  his.  Across  it  she  sees 
written  in  letters  of  flame  her  life  forecast  of  nine 
months  ago,  and  its  ironical  fulfilment  of  to-day. 
To  walk  beside  an  apostle  along  rough  roads,  hold- 
ing his  tired  hand  and  strengthening  him  to  blow 
the  silver 'trumpet  of  his  Evangel  in  the  dark  places 
of  the  earth — that  was  the  forecast!  To  be  the 
appanage  of  a  fashionable  preacher,  while  he  titil- 
latingly  lashes  smart  bonnets,  and  flourishes  on 
freely  taken  sittings — this  is  its  fulfilment! 


3o6  FOES   IN   LAW 

While  they  so  sit,  each  chewing  the  cud  of  his 
and  her  bitter  thoughts,  a  noise  of  nearing  laughter 
reaches  their  ears,  of  chattering  voices  and  skip- 
ping steps;  and  from  the  shadow  of  a  clump  of 
lime  trees  a  group  of  three  girls,  or  young  women, 
presently  emerges,  affectionately  entwined  and 
dancing  along.  The  middle  one,  when  they  are 
near  enough  to  be  identified,  is  seen  to  be  Marie; 
but  her  supporters  on  either  side  are  not  her  sisters, 
as  their  rough  laughs  and  wildly  cockney  accents 
plainly  proclaim.  As  their  capering  steps  bring 
them  up  to  the  solemn  occupants  of  the  bench 
Marie  cries  out — 

"  Come  and  have  a  dancing  lesson.  These  are 
two  of  my  club  girls,  Florrie  and  Beatrice.  There 
are  six  more  somewhere  about — oh!"  suddenly 
recognizing  Randal,  and  with  a  startling  change 
of  tone — "  it  is  you,  it  it?  I  took  you  in  the  dis- 
tance for — my  brother." 

The  young  man  has  stood  up,  and  now  bows 
with  an  exaggerated  courtesy. 

"  Unintentional  compliments  are  always  the  most 
valuable." 

"  The  moon  was  behind  a  cloud,  or  I  could  not 
have  made  such  a  mistalce,'^  she  answers  in  a  voice 
perfectly  unknown  to  Lettice;  which  has  neither 
sparkle  nor  playful  jibe  in  it,  and  so  turns  on  her 
heel,  and  walks  off  between  her  two  protegees,  with 
no  longer  any  frisky  spring  in  her  feet. 

Lettice  looks  and  listens  in  puzzled  dismay. 
How  acutely  Randal  and  Marie  dislike  each  other! 
What  immense  strides  their  reciprocal  aversion  has 
taken  during  her  own  absence!  Yet  when  alone, 
later  on,  she  reckons  up  the  evening's  gains  and 


FOES   IN   LAW  307 

losses,  she  cannot  help  feeling  that  the  account 
stands  more  in  her  favour  than  she  could  have 
hoped.  Though  she  and  Chevening  had  continued 
sitting  on  their  bench  for  an  hour  after  Marie's 
irruption,  she  had  succeeded  in  staving  off  any  and 
all  of  those  amorous  onsets,  the  mere  apprehension 
of  which  had  kept  her  shudderingly  wakeful 
through  many  previous  nights. 

After  all,  now  she  comes  to  think  of  it,  there  had 
been  nothing  to  stave.  Her  first  action  of  piling 
the  wraps  had  given  the  key-note,  and  he  had  reli- 
giously kept  to  it.  He  has  really  shown  a  great 
deal  of  delicacy.  When  a  man  is  a  thorough  gen- 
tleman, you  always  know  how  to  deal  with  him. 
And  yet  restless  unhappiness,  balked  yearning, 
straining  rebellion,  had  spoken  in  every  line  of  that 
haggard  face.  Tame  and  commonplace,  as  in  rare 
moments  of  self-abasement  she  calls  herself,  how 
has  she  managed  to  light  such  volcanic  fires  in  such 
a  man?  Once  the  knowledge  had  filled  her  with 
reverent  gratitude,  now  it  inspires  in  her  nothing 
but  a  sense  of  iron-clamped  responsibility  and 
leaden  dread.  Those  terrible  eyes!  How  can  the 
fine  ladies  admire  them!  "  Morning,  noon,  and 
night?" 

4c  4c  4c  *  ♦  4c 

September  is  our  steadiest  friend  among  the 
year's  twelve  daughters,  with  their  varied  whimsies, 
the  one  that  oftenest  plays  the  fairy  godmother, 
and  seldomest  the  scolding  shrew.  She  is  no  ex- 
ception to  her  golden  rule  this  year.  Not  once  are 
the  young  Kergouets  reduced  to  playing  "  Bears  " 
in  the  passages,  or  turning  Lettice*s  discreet 
maiden  bower  into  a  robber's  cave.     They  have 


3o8  FOES   IN   LAW 

more  time,  more  spare  energy,  than  at  Easter — 
since  there  are  now  no  rehearsals  to  distract  them 
— for  the  prosecution  of  their  terrible  industries. 
Yet  after  a  day  or  two  it  is  clear  to  Lettice  that  they 
do  much  less  mischief  than  on  their  former  visit. 
They  chip  bits  out  of  themselves,  and  fall  down 
through  trap-doors  and  off  ladders  quite  as  freely 
as  ever;  but  a  quietly  quelling  word  and  eye  suc- 
cessfully check  that  havoc  wrought  on  his  earthly 
goods  which  their  good-natured  brother-in-law 
had  on  the  former  occasion  let  pass  in  smiling,  if 
regretful,  patience. 

Gabriel  is  the  one  person  in  the  world  admir- 
ingly confessed  by  his  family  to  be  able  and  willing 
to  tackle  Sybil.  And  to  "  tackle  Sybil  "  when  she 
is  as  much  above  her  boots,  according  to  her  rela- 
tives' lenient  phrase,  and  as  determined  to  hoist  her 
compeers  above  them  as  she  is  throughout  this 
festal  period,  is  no  sinecure. 

Marie  is  madly,  wildly  gay  too,  introducing  her 
club  girls — of  whom  six  dance  in  a  ballet  and  two 
make  jams,  and  with  all  of  whom  you  may  count 
upon  being  more  intimate  than  you  quite  wish 
within  two  minutes  of  your  introduction  to  them 
— right  and  left,  to  her  startled  friends  in  the  vil- 
lage: to  Miss  Smith,  Miss  Brown,  and  Miss  Dela- 
mothe;  to  shy  Mrs.  Fairfax  and  excited  Mrs.  Tay- 
lor, who  has  a  racy  feeling  of  being  a  frequenter 
of  green  rooms  for  ever  after. 

It  is  a  standing  marvel  to  Lettice  how  her  sister- 
in-law  can  endure  and  even  enjoy  the  lavish  endear- 
ments of  these  demonstrative  young  ladies. 

"  Marie  is  the  only  real  Radical  I  have  ever 
known,"  she  says  one  day  to  Gabriel,  in  a  tone  of 


FOES   IN   LAW  309 

troubled  wonder,  as  she  watches  Florrie  and  Bea- 
trice and  Ada  and  May  Violet  clustered  round 
their  hostess,  and  handling  her  hat,  her  hair,  her 
trinkets,  without  any  opposition  on  her  part. 

"  She  is  no  great  respecter  of  persons,  is  she?  " 
he  answers.  "  She  loves  humanity,  soaped  or  un- 
soaped." 

"  I  am  some  way  from  that,"  rejoins  Lettice,  with 
an  agreeable  sense  of  virtue  in  confessing  an  im- 
perfection which  she  has  not  the  smallest  intention 
of  correcting.  "  I  snubbed  May  Violet  only  this 
morning  for  poking  her  dirty  fingers  into  my  back 
hair,  to  find  out  if  I  wore  a  pad." 

"  I  was  privileged  to  see  and  hear  you."  And 
they  both  laugh. 

The  truce  of  God  still  lasts,  and  the  occasional 
chips  it  sustains  no  more  impair  its  integrity  than 
do  the  barking  of  Sybil's  shins  or  the  three-cor- 
nered pieces  daily  hammered  and  gouged  and  gim- 
leted  out  of  her  flesh  lessen  that  young  lady's 
enjoyment.  Perhaps  it  runs  the  greatest  peril 
when  Miss  Kirstie,  emboldened  by  having  drawn 
blood  from  Sybil's  leg  without  anybody — least  of 
all  the  sufferer — seeing  any  cause  to  object,  un- 
wisely proceeds  to  sample  the  infant  calves  of  little 
Frank.  Or  perhaps  it  is  in  still  greater  danger 
when  Muriel,  exhibiting  her  phonograph  at  a  vil- 
lage entertainment,  at  which  Lady  Clapperton  is 
present,  unluckily  puts  in  the  cylinder  which  re- 
cords in  Louis's  voice  that  "  Lady  Clapperton  is  a 
giraffe  in  coronation  robes!  "  It  is  only  by  a  mira- 
cle that  the  squeaky  insult  does  not  reach  the  ears 
of  its  object. 

There  is  nothing  odd  in  the  fact  that  incidents 


3IQ  FOES    IN   LAW 

such  as  these  should  produce  some  smart  sparring. 
What  does  strike  Lettice  as  odd  is  the  way  in 
which  she  has  more  than  once  found  Marie  sur- 
reptitiously regarding  her.  There  is  no  hostility 
in  the  look,  only  investigation,  questioning,  anx- 
iety. Could  she  overhear  a  conversation  that  takes 
place  between  Mrs.  Trent  and  her  eldest  brother 
about  a  week  after  her  return,  she  might  gain 
some  enlightenment.  They  have  been  strolling 
together  silently  before  dinner,  after  a  long  day's 
cricketing,  when  Marie  speaks  abruptly. 

"  You  are  worrying  yourself  badly  over  this." 

"Aren't  you?" 

There  is  an  unwonted  sharpness  in  the  tone. 

"Of  course  I  am;  fretting  myself  to  fiddle- 
strings!  But  what  is  the  use  of  fretting?  You — 
you  do  not  think  that  she  guesses — that  she  is 
beginning  to  suspect?  " 

"How  should  she?" 

"  She  is  never  very  quick  at  seeing  things.  / 
should  have  found  out  in  one  second." 

A  slight  quiver  running  through  the  arm — the 
hard-worked  arm  on  which  she  leans — tells  Marie 
that  even  this  slight  disparagement  is  too  much 
for  the  hearer's  patience. 

"  Do  you  think  she  will  mind  much?  " 

"  Mind! "  The  arm  drops  hers  with  a  vigorous 
jerk,  and  its  owner  faces  her  with  his  whole  pale 
face  on  fire.  "  Mind,  when  she  discovers  that  the 
man  whom  she  supposes  to  be  hers  heart  and 
soul,  who  ought  never  to  be  off  his  knees  in  grati- 
tude for  having  had  the  unspeakable  good  fortune 
to  win  her,  should  have " 


FOES   IN    LAW  311 

A  feverish  little  hand  comes  with  a  smack  across 
his  lips,  and  cuts  off  the  end  of  the  sentence. 

"  You  shan't  say  it!    I  won't  hear  it!  " 

After  a  tempestuous  pause,  with  a  return  of  the 
old  sisterly  jealousy — 

"  Of  course  to  you  it  seems  incredible! " 

Gabriel  is  much  too  miserable  to  reply,  which 
his  sister  perceiving,  remorsefully  rubs  her  cheek 
up  and  down  the  sleeve  of  his  jacket.  Desisting, 
she  says  in  a  horrified  voice — 

"  All  the  same  he  will  marry  her,  if  some  one 
does  not  stop  it.    Some  one  ought  to  tell  her.*' 

**  Whof  God  forbid  that  any  one  should  know 
it  except  you  and  me,  and  the  information  would 
not  come  very  well  from  either  of  us." 

There  is  the  bitter  distress  in  his  accents  of  one 
who  sees  no  outlet  from  a  hopeless  strait.  Neither 
does  she  apparently;  and  it  is  he  who  presently 
speaks  again. 

"  Were  you  thinking  of  Jimf  " 

She  gives  a  prodigious  start,  her  whole  little 
nervous  body  in  revolt. 

"/im,  not  for  worlds!  I  won't  have  my  old 
Freak  worried ;  and  besides  " — laughing  hysteri- 
cally— "  he  would  never  think  me  infallible  again." 

Both  walk  on  a  few  paces,  with  heads  dejectedly 
drooping. 

"  I  told  you  you  would  have  trouble  with  that — 
man." 

"  What  is  the  good  of  reminding  me  of  that 
nowf  "  she  cries,  all  her  nerves  on  edge,  and  throw- 
ing her  head  about  as  if  to  dislodge  some  odious 
occupant  from  her  brain.  "  Who  could  have 
guessed  it?    Among  all  the  men  I  had  ever  met — 


312  FOES   IN   LAW 

and  you  know  they  were  not  few — I  had  never 
come  across  one  I  was  not  quite  equal  to  manag- 
ing. How  could  I  know  that  this — this  reptile  was 
an  exception?    A  clergyman,  too!    Faugh!" 

A  meditation  upon  the  Christian  graces  of  the 
Rev.  Randal  Chevening  keeps  both  suffocated  for 
a  while. 

"  She  has  certainly  every  reason  to  bless  our 
family! "  says  Gabriel,  first  recovering  speech,  but 
of  a  low  and  choking  sort.  "What  more  is  there  left 
that  we  can  rob  her  of?  Home,  position,  brother, 
and  now " 

It  is  almost  the  first  taste  of  his  rare  severity  that 
Marie  has  ever  in  her  life  experienced,  and  it  flings 
her  into  a  passion  of  tears. 

"  If  I  have  robbed  her  of  her  brother,  she  has 
certainly  robbed  me  of  mine." 

To  her  consternation,  she  perceives  that  he  is 
beyond  being  affected  by  her  agitation. 

"  You  know  that  you  are  talking  nonsense,"  he 
answers  gently,  but  coldly. 

She  clings  about  him  in  an  absolute  panic. 
"  Say  that  you  don't  think  it  was  my  fault.  Say 
that  you  do  not  think  I  was  to  blame." 

With  fever-trembling  hands  she  pulls  his  face 
round,  compelling  him  to  look  into  the  wet  wells  of 
her  great  eyes;  and  he,  yielding  to  the  lifelong  habit 
of  protecting  affection,  puts  his  arm  round  her 
waist. 

"  No,"  he  says  ruefully;  "I  believe  that,  as  far 
as  intention  goes,  you  were  perfectly  innocent." 

Once  again  they  are  silent,  wedged  in  that  issue- 
less impasse.  Once  again  Gabriel  takes  the  initia- 
tive. 


FOES   IN   LAW  313 

"There  is  no  time  to  lose,"  he  says,  not  chok- 
ingly this  time,  but  in  a  key  of  dogged  resolution. 
"  Something  must  be  done  to  save  her.  Even — 
her  worst  enemy  could  not  wish  her  such  a  fate.'* 

"  You  were  going  to  say  '  even  you'  "  replies 
his  sister,  deeply  wounded.  **  Oh,  how  unjust  you 
are  to  me;  and  I  was  growing  quite  fond  of  her." 

''Were  you?"  he  says,  a  sudden  inspiration 
lighting  up  flambeaux  in  his  glowing  eyes.  "  Then 
prove  it.    Tell  her!  " 

"Kill  me  at  once!"  cries  Marie,  theatrically 
seizing  the  lappels  of  her  white  serge  jacket,  and 
tearing  them  apart,  as  if  to  offer  her  heart  to  the 
fraternal  penknife.  "  I  had  far  rather  die.  Sooner 
than  do  it,  I  will  die !  " 

He  turns  from  her,  eluding  her  embrace.  "  Do 
not  shake  me  off  because  I  am  merely  human,"  she 
says,  whimpering,  and  recapturing  him.  "  Don't 
you  see  that,  considering  how  we  have  always  hated 
each  other,  it  would  be  physically  impossible  for 
me  to  own  to  her  that " 

She  breaks  off  with  a  grimace  of  inexpressible 
distaste,  resuming,  after  a  moment  or  two,  in  a 
carneying  key  full  of  doubt  and  fright — 

"  Now,  you  have  always  been  on  good  terms 
with  her.    It  would  come  much  better  from  you'' 

At  that  he  shakes  her  off  like  a  viper. 

"  From  me?  Do  you  know  what  you  are  say- 
ing? If  I  had  the  boundless  impertinence  to  inter- 
fere, what  would  she — what  could  she  think,  but 
that  I  was  traducing  him  for — for  my  own  ends?  " 

"  Very  well,  then,"  replies  Mrs.  Trent,  despe- 
rately, beginning  to  run  off  towards  the  house, 
"then  there  is  no  help  for  it.     She  must  marry 


314  FOES   IN   LAW 

him,  and  make  the  best  of  a  bad  bargain,  as  many 
other  women  have  done  before  her." 

Her  brother  remains  standing  where  she  had 
left  him  in  the  gathering  dusk,  his  hands,  nervous 
as  her  own,  tormenting  each  other. 

"  If  there  is  no  other  way "  he  groans,  lift- 
ing to  the  just  appearing  luminaries  above  him  a 
face  in  which  there  are  more  lines  than  are  ac- 
counted for  by  his  years.  Later  he  adds  under  his 
breath,  "  Surely  the  bitterness  of  death  is  past!  " 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

Even  now  that  she  has  jetumed  to  his  orbit,  Mr. 
Chevening  is  not  able  to  pursue  the  courtship  of 
his  betrothed  as  sedulously  as  might  have  been  ex- 
pected. Besides  the  work  naturally  entailed  upon 
him  by  his  imminent  departure  and  the  engage- 
ments which  his  future  cure  already  bring,  he  is 
threatened  with  a  law  suit  by  the  relatives  of  the 
old  lady  who,  in  gratitude  for  the  spiritual  food 
with  which  he  had  fed  her,  has  bequeathed  him  her 
loaves  and  fishes.  Counsel  assures  the  legatee — 
as  is  subsequently  proved,  rightly  assures  him — 
that  the  angry  claimants  have  not  a  leg  to  stand 
on;  but  their  ireful  endeavours  to  prove  that  no 
one,  except  of  unsound  mind,  could  think  a  vol- 
ume of  sermons  an  equivalent  for  £60,000  Consols, 
give  him  a  good  deal  of  trouble. 

When  the  lovers  meet  it  is  scarcely  ever  at  the 
house  or  in  the  grounds  of  her  home.  Almost  al- 
ways he  finds  some  pretext — mostly  that  of  the 
impossibility  of  finding  any  privacy  in  the  area 
scoured  by  the  admirably  efficient  roughriders  of 
Kergouet's  Horse — for  giving  her  a  rendezvous  in 
the  woods  or  lanes. 

Is  it  the  publicity  of  their  meeting-places  that 
affords  her  that  immunity  from  his  embraces 
which  strikes  her  with  astonished  thankfulness  as 
too  good  to  be  true?    Or  is  it  that  his  pride  still 

31' 


3i6  FOES   IN   LAW 

remembers  the  defensive  wall  of  wraps  which  on 
the  first  evening  of  her  return  she  had  built  be- 
tween them?  She  assigns  it  to  the  latter  cause, 
and  as  she  looks  in  his  haggard  face,  or  evades  the 
dreadful  light  in  his  eyes,  as  she  listens  to  his  spas- 
modic speech,  or  sees  him  lapse  into  moody  silence, 
her  conscience  smites  her  bitterly  for  the  suffering 
that  the  painful  fight  for  self-control  entails  upon 
him  in  the  effort  to  suppress,  for  fear  of  offending 
her,  all  outward  evidences  of  the  passion  that  is 
eating  out  his  vitals.  Do  the  daily  deepening 
marks  of  struggle  on  his  face,  the  feverish  frag- 
mentariness  of  his  speech,  the  absolute  disappear- 
ance of  all  attempt  at  physical  contact — even  her 
hand  hangs  untouched  by  him — mean  that  he  has 
realized  the  intensity  of  her  own  lothness,  and  that 
he  is  wrestling  and  agonizing  to  be  enabled  to  re- 
nounce her?  If  he  offers  it,  will  she  have  any  right 
to  accept  such  a  sacrifice — to  blast  him  with  a 
hopeless  blight  just  at  the  opening  of  his  career? 

These  are  the  questions  that  hammer  with  dis- 
mal reiteration  against  the  wall  of  her  brain  as  she 
sits  beside  him  who  is  still  her  promised  husband, 
beneath  a  not  yet  carried  corn-stook,  under  the 
now  needless  chaperonage  of  the  reapers,  or  saun- 
ters dolefully  through  the  nutty  woods. 

One  day,  when  she  has  been  at  home  about  a 
fortnight.  Miss  Trent  finds  herself  at  liberty  from 
her  triste  promenade,  Mr.  Chevening  having  been 
summoned  to  Swyndford  by  his  duchess  to  be 
presented  to  some  of  the  fairest  and  fashionablest 
of  his  new  flock  at  present  visiting  her.  But  for  the 
perpetual  obsession  of  her  heavy  thoughts  Lettice 
would  have  had  a  pleasant  day,  and  it  is  with  an 


FOES  IN   LAW  5t| 

almost  happy  look  that  she  lifts  her  face  from  the 
drawing-board,  on  which  she  has  been  figuring 
forth  the  plan  for  next  year's  garden,  to  greet 
Gabriel,  come  back  from  shooting. 

"  Begonias  here/'  she  says,  "  white  pansies  and 
heliotrope  here,  coreopsis  and  red  nasturtium  here, 
and  so  on,  and  something  tall  and  feathery  in  the 
middle  of  each  bed." 

She  points  with  her  paint-brush  to  the  little  dabs 
of  colour  that  represent  the  prospective  blooms, 
and  he  notes  with  rapture  that  she  has  a  smirch  of 
indigo  on  one  cheek.  Shall  he  tell  her  of  it,  and 
shock  her  militant  neatness,  or  shall  he  let  it  stay  to 
gratify  his  eye  by  its  heightening  of  the  "  delicate 
lodgment  "  it  has  found?  He  decides  on  the  latter 
course.  She  puts  her  paint-brush  to  her  mouth, 
and  says  sententiously — 

"  A  garden  is  the  one  really  unmixed  pleasure 
in  life.  There  is  nothing  in  the  world  at  once  so 
soothing  and  so  cheering." 

"  Have  you  needed  cheering?  " 

"  Why  should  I?  "—sharply. 

Here  is  his  opportunity,  the  opportunity  that  he 
lias  been  vainly  seeking  for  a  week,  and  reproach- 
ing himself  with  his  own  cowardice  in  not  making. 

"  You  have  looked — or  I  have  imagined  it — as 
if  you  had  something  on  your  mind." 

She  puts  her  paint-brush  into  her  water-tin,  and 
then  into  a  cake  of  colour,  with  a  dehberate  move- 
ment whose  calm  is  contradicted  by  the  shaking  of 
the  brush  in  her  fingers. 

"  I  have  something — a  cart-load — on  my  mind,*' 
she  answers  in  a  low  voice,  "  and  sometimes  I  think 
I  must  unload  it  to — somebody,  and  then  again  I 


3i8  FOES   IN    LAW 

am  quite  sure  that  I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  kind. 
Come,  they  have  all  been  to  tea  at  the  Vicarage; 
shall  we  go  and  meet  them?  " 

She  rises,  and  puts  her  drawing  implements  hur- 
riedly together,  forgetting  that  the  little  pool  of 
carmine  on  her  palette  has  not  been  transferred  to 
the  Phlox  Drummondi  bed. 

The  resolution  with  which  she  waves  aside  the 
topic,  and  the  determination  to  talk  of  nothing  but 
la  pluie  et  le  beau  temps,  which  she  displays  through- 
out their  walk  across  the  park,  render  it  impossible 
for  him  to  revert  to  a  subject  which  she  so 
pointedly  shuns,  and  he  sees  that  his  first  oppor- 
tunity for  doing  what  nothing  but  the  most  mon- 
strous anomaly  could  ever  have  laid  upon  him  as 
a  duty  to  attempt  is  gone.  He  is,  however,  to  be 
given  a  second  one. 

"Who  are  the  two  people  colloguing  at  the 
gate?  "  asks  Lattice,  breaking  ofT  suddenly  in  the 
middle  of  a  feverish  commonplace,  such  as  she  has 
been  pouring  forth  for  the  last  half  mile.  "  How 
the  days  are  beginning  to  draw  in  already!  Why, 
it  is  Randal " — with  an  intonation  of  surprise — 
"  and  Marie!  I  do  believe  " — laughing  uneasily — 
"  that  they  are  quarrelling  again !  They  really 
ought  to  be  bound  over  to  keep  the  peace.  Oh,  do 
not  let  us  join  them,  or  they  will  appeal  to  us  " — 
turning  hastily  round,  and  beginning  to  retrace  her 
steps.  "  I  do  dislike  being  drawn  into  quarrels  that 
do  not  concern  me." 

Her  companion  looks  at  her  with  his  heart  in 
his  mouth.  Is  it  possible  that  she  is  still  blind?  that 
those  eyes,  clear  as  mountain  brooks,  can  have  seen 
in  the  livid  face  on  the  other  side  of  the  wicket 


FOES   IN    LAW  319 

nothing  but  trivial  dislike  for  an  uncongenial  ac- 
quaintance? His  glance  tells  him  that,  inconceiv- 
able as  it  seems,  impregnable  in  the  fortified  castle 
of  her  fixed  idea,  her  eyes  are  still  bound.  It  is  for 
him  to  tear  the  bandage  from  them,  and  the 
moment  has  come. 

''  Has  it  ever  struck  you  to — to  ask  him  v^hat 
they  quarrel  about?  " 

Miss  Trent  draws  up  her  neck  v^ith  a  slight  ges- 
ture of  hauteur.  What  suitable  words  would  have 
accompanied  this  mark  of  her  displeasure  will  never 
now  be  known,  for  before  she  can  utter  them  she  is 
seized  from  behind  by  a  pair  of  muscular  young 
arms,  which  lift  her  an  inch  or  two  from  the 
ground,  and  then  drop  her. 

"Muriel  bet  me  I  could  not  lift  you!"  cries 
Sybil's  voice,  breathless  and  boastful.  "  What  do 
you  say  now,  heinf"  Recovering  her  wind  with 
creditable  rapidity,  she  adds,  "  Why  did  not  you 
come  and  fetch  us,  as  you  promised?  You  do  not 
know  what  you  lost!  We  got  Mrs.  Taylor  into  the 
swing.  I  thought  she  would  '  crever '  with  laugh- 
mg. 

"  She  feigned  to  be  amused,"  says  Louis,  eager, 
as  usual,  to  discount  his  tyrant's  glories;  "but  in 
truth  she  wished  you  at  the  devil." 

The  wrangle  lasts  till  they  reach  the  house,  and 
Gabriel's  second  opportunity  is  gone.  Recogniz- 
ing that  it  has  done  so,  he  slips  back  from  the  noisy 
group  now  enveloping  Lettice  to  meet  his  sister. 
The  young  man  has  not  many  yards  to  go  before 
he  sees  her  hastening  through  the  gathering 
gloom,  which  is  not  yet  opaque  enough  to  conceal 
the  high  state  of  agitation  in  which  she  is. 


320  FOES   IN   LAW 

"  He  tracked  me  through  the  village,"  she  says, 
breathing  heavily.  "  He  implored  me  to  listen  to 
him — to  let  him  explain — apologize.  I  had  to  hold 
the  gate  against  him." 

She  clenches  her  little  hands,  as  if  to  repeat  that 
potent  resistance,  the  idea  of  which  would  in  other 
circumstances  have  made  the  hearer  smile. 

"  Did  she  see?  " — in  a  panting  half  whisper. 
"  Of  course,  she  understands  now?  You  shake 
your  head.  No?  Is  it  possible  that  any  one  can 
be  so  thick-witted?  " 

The  gathering  dusk  probably  hides  the  wince 
evoked  by  this  last  query,  for  she  gallops  on  with 
ever-swelling  excitement. 

"  And  you  have  not  told  her?  You  have 
shirked  it  again?  " 

His  long  schooling  in  self-control  has,  perhaps, 
never  had  a  severer  call  upon  it  than  that  made  by 
the  grossness  of  this  injustice;  but  it  stands  the 
strain.  If  his  silence  does  not  reproach  her,  his 
word  certainly  do  not.  In  a  minute  she  is  lashing 
herself  instead. 

"  What  am  I  saying?  Of  course  it  is  I  that  have 
shirked  it;  I  that  shall  go  on  shirking  it  until  it  is 
too  late.  It  is  infamous  of  me  to  try  to  shift  it  on 
to  you;  but  oh!" — by  this  time  her  Httle,  hot, 
tragic  face  is  buried  in  his  chest — "  you  have  car- 
ried so  many  loads  for  me.  Do  not  you  think  that 
if  you  tried  very  hard  you  could  carry  this  one 
too?  " 

All  thiough  the  evening  Gabriel  seeks  for  that 
third  opportunity,  which,  once  grasped,  he  is  reso- 
lute not  again  to  let  slip.  The  person  who  must 
ailford  it  to  him  seems,  however,  as  determined  to 


FOES  IN   LAW 


321 


elude  as  he  to  gain  it.  Fine  as  the  evening  is,  in- 
finitely tempting  with  its  programme  of  stars  and 
scents,  she  refuses  all  invitations  to  go  into  the 
garden,  and  sits  beside  a  table  with  her  large-lidded 
eyes  for  the  most  part  dropped  upon  a  piece  of 
plain  work,  steadily  sewing,  an  image  of  dainty 
housewifely  decorum.  The  table  is  that  upon 
which  old  Mr.  Kergouet's  reading-lamp  stands, 
and  only  by  its  width  is  she  parted  from  Gabriel's 
father,  thus  unconsciously  employed  as  a  lightning- 
conductor.  He  is  the  only  other  occupant  of  the 
room,  and  his  son's  eyes  keep  turning  with 
stealthy  impatience  to  a  neighbouring  clock,  as  if 
to  hasten  the  arrival  of  that  early  hour  at  which  his 
invalid  habits  send  the  parent  Kergouet  to  bed. 
But  to-night  that  parent  has  no  intention  of  re- 
tiring. Emoustille  by  the  presence  of  his  hand- 
some and  at  least  negatively  civil  neighbour,  he 
bestirs  himself  to  pay  her  timorous  compliments 
upon  her  scissors,  her  thimble,  her  reels  of  cotton, 
and  the  faded  satin  and  mother-of-pearl  fittings  of 
her  old-world  sandal-wood  work-box. 

When  half  an  hour  beyond  his  usual  tether  has 
been  given  him,  the  son,  unable  any  longer  to  gov- 
ern his  impatience,  interposes. 

"  Father,  do  you  know  that  it  is  eleven 
o'clock?  " 

Docile  as  ever  to  his  offspring's  admonitions,  the 
senior  rather  unwillingly  draws  himself  out  of  his 
easy-chair.  To  the  son's  infinite  annoyance,  Miss 
Trent  rises  too,  and  departs,  bidding  both  men  a 
grave  good-night. 

As  Gabriel's  balked  eyes  follow  the  tall  white 
dignity  crossing  the  hall,  he  sees  the  butler  giving 


3aa  FOES  IN  LAW 

her  a  rather  bulky  letter,  which  has  apparently 
come  by  hand.  She  does  not  p^use  to  open  it,  but 
pursues  her  upward  way.  Had  Gabriel  known  that 
that  insignificant-looking  missive  would  save  him 
for  ever  from  the  hideous  necessity  for  finding  a 
"  third  time,"  he  would  have  slept  better  than  he 
did. 

*  3|J  *  *  *  * 

Lettice  is  in  no  hurry  to  open  her  letter.  Rec- 
ognition of  the  handwriting  in  which  it  is  addressed 
forbids  all  anticipations  of  possible  pleasure  in  its 
perusal.  She  idly  wonders,  when  at  last,  having 
purposely  loitered  over  her  undressing,  she  breaks 
the  seal,  why  it  is  sealed?    What  makes  it  so  big? 

The  answer  comes  quickly  in  a  little  shower  of 
notes  and  letters — a  very  little  one.  A  single 
glance  tells  her  that  they  are  of  her  own  inditing, 
the  scanty  crop  of  correspondence  spread  over  the 
months  of  her  engagement. 

Marie  had  called  her  thick-witted,  and  for  the 
first  moment  or  two  the  significance  of  their  home- 
coming does  not  reach  her.  Then  it  dawns  hastily 
upon  her.  When  an  engagement  is  broken  off,  let- 
ters and  presents  are  sent  back. 

What  does  it  mean?  She  snatches  up  the  one 
sheet — two  sheets,  which  are  not  in  her  own,  but 
in  Randal's  handwriting,  and  begins  to  read — 
though  at  first  the  lines  mix  and  dance  and  overlap 
each  other. 

"Though  I  have  forfeited  all  right  to  care,  I 
cannot  even  now  help  a  pang  of  agony  at  the  know- 
ledge that  the  sight  of  your  own  returned  letters 
— you  cannot  reproach  yourself  with  having  been 
too  prodigal  of  them — and  what  it  implies,  will  fill 


FOES   IN    LAW  323 

you  with  relief  and  joy.  Yes,  you  are  set  free.  I 
have  forfeited  all  claim  to  you.  By  the  time  you 
read  this  I  shall  have  gone  out  of  your  life  for  ever. 
You  have  never  loved  me;  not  even  at  that  mo- 
ment when  you  offered  me  your  cold  lips,  which 
for  once  seemed  warm  and  human.  If  you  had 
loved  me,  it  might  have  been  different.  Together 
we  might  have  conquered  the  devil  within  me,  for 
I  have  struggled — I  have!  I  have!  I  might  have 
come  out  of  the  contest  with  victory,  instead  of 
as  now,  in  utter  shameful  defeat." 

The  words  wander  across  the  page,  half  illegible; 
but  even  if  they  were  printed  in  the  clearest  type 
they  would  for  the  moment  carry  no  meaning  to 
the  dazed  reader.  What  does  it  mean?  What  is 
it  all  about?  Has  he  gone  mad?  She  catches  up 
the  sheet  which  in  her  bewilderment  she  has  let  half 
slip  through  her  fingers,  and  her  eyes  devour  the 
page  that  may — that  must  bring  the  elucidation  of 
this  horrible  mystery. 

"I  have  succumbed  to  that  temptation  which 
assailed  me  the  first  moment  I  saw  her!  " 

Then,  at  last,  the  bandage  is  loosened  from  Let- 
tice's  eyes;  the  scales  fall  from  them,  and  she  sees. 
It  is  Marie,  Marie,  Marie!    She  tears  along. 

"  A  fortnight  ago,  forsaken  by  you,  by  God,  and 
hounded  on  by  the  raging  fiend  within  me,  I  went 
mad,  and  spoke.  I  had  no  excuse,  no  palliation.  I 
knew,  I  know  now  that  she  loathes  me,  and  yet  I 
spoke." 

The  latter  phrases  are  barely  decipherable.  She 
can  no  longer  gallop.    She  must  crawl. 

"  Every  day  since  your  return  I  have  expected 
you  to  ask  me  the  reason  of  the  miserable  chapg<5 


$24  FOES   IN  LAW 

that,  as  none  knows  better  than  I,  has  been  patent 
to  every  one  but  you.  But  cold,  pure,  and  unim- 
aginative, slow  to  suspect,  slow  to  sec,  you  have 
apparently — inconceivable  as  is  such  blindness — 
perceived  nothing.  Well,  at  all  events,  you  will  see 
now." 

Then  follows  a  dash  and  break.  Is  that  all?  No, 
on  another  sheet  there  is  still  something. 

"  In  one  respect  I  can  allay  the  fears  that  I  know 
will  assail  your  piety.  I  shall  not  remain  in  Holy 
Orders,  but  shall  leave  the  Church  which  I  have 
disgraced." 

There  is  no  signature;  nor  any  ending. 

When  one's  world  turns  topsy-turvy,  and  one 
finds  one's  self  sitting  on  one's  head,  it  is  no  great 
wonder  if  one's  ideas  are  at  first  a  little  brouilles, 
and  for  some  while  the  darkness  of  chaos  reigns 
in  the  girl's  brain.  Then  gradually,  in  glimmer- 
ings, in  shafts,  and  finally  in  a  dazzling  deluge,  light 
pours  in  upon  her.  How  inconceivably  blind  she 
has  been!  Marie!  One  after  one,  then  in  troops, 
then  in  armies,  the  indications,  hints,  incidents, 
looks,  words,  which  should  have  enlightened  her, 
march  up  and  storm  her  memory.  Marie!  The 
haggard,  havocked  face,  the  disconcerted  speech, 
the  gloomy  silences,  the  waste  of  flesh,  even  the 
dreadful  fervour  of  the  kisses  had  all  been  for  her. 

A  pang  of  unavoidable  humiliation  and  self- 
contempt  at  having  ever  imagined  that  attractions 
so  moderate,  and  a  nature  so  commonplace  as  hers 
could  light  such  volcanic  fires,  flashes  first  across 
her;  but  soon  gives  way  to  a  worthier  pain.  Is 
this  what  the  apostle,  with  whom,  less  than  a  year 
agfo,  she  had  seen  herself  prophetically  climbing 


FOES  IN  LAW  $25 

spiritual  heights,  drawn  up  by  him  to  ever  loftier 
and  loftier  levels,  has  come  to? 

She  had  long  known  that  he  was  not  an  apostle; 
that  it  was  only  her  own  slowness  of  apprehension 
and  lack  of  intuition  that  could  ever  have  thought 
him  one;  but  that  he  should  have  sunk  in  this 
slough  of  sensual  mire,  without  her  own  stupid 
eyes  ever  having  detected  that  his  feet  were  even 
remotely  tending  thither!  If  she  had  been  fonder 
of  him,  could  she  have  saved  him? 

The  hours  pass  unnoted  by  her,  as  in  seething 
confusion  the  images  of  the  past  course  before  her 
mental  vision.  In  the  absolute  upheaval  of  her 
world,  not  only  present  and  future  are  engulfed, 
but  the  past  has  been  swallowed  too.  It  has  never 
existed  as  she  had  thought  it. 

One  after  one,  she  lives  over  the  unreality  of  its 
scenes.  Here  and  there  a  taper  of  truth  has  been 
held  to  her  delusions,  but  she  has  always  industri- 
ously blown  it  out.  The  stealthy  anxiety  with 
which  Marie  has  scanned  her  face;  Gabriel's  obvi- 
ous effort  to  give  her  some  hint  or  warning; — how 
is  it  possible  that  she  could  have  helped  compre- 
hending their  meaning? 

She  gets  up  heavily  from  the  seat  tefore  her 
dressing-table,  at  which  she  was  sitting  when  the 
cataclysm  overwhelmed  her,  and  turns  out  the 
electric  light.  Darkness  best  matches  such  com- 
munings as  hers,  and  the  sight  of  her  own  dis- 
traught face  in  the  toilet-glass  irks  her  to  madness. 

Her  whirling  thoughts  begin  to  roll  in  a  new 
channel.  Why  does  she  feel  no  anger  against 
Marie?  Having  deeply  resented  all  the  minor  in- 
juries inflicted  on  her  by  her  sister-in-law,  why 
does  she,  now  that  Marie  has  dene  fi^r  the  most 


326  FOES   IN   LAW 

grievous  wrong  that  one  woman  can  inflict  on  an- 
other, feel  no  animosity  towards  her?  The  prob- 
lem repeats  itself,  with  parrot-like  sameness, 
through  the  sable  hours,  and  only  dawn  brings  the 

solution. 

****** 

For  once  in  her  life  Miss  Trent  is  late  for  break- 
fast, her  maid  having  found  her  in  so  beautiful  a 
sleep  as  not  to  have  the  heart  to  disturb  her. 

When  she  at  length,  with  trepidating  anxiety  as 
to  the  construction  that  will  be  put  upon  her  tardi- 
ness, appears,  she  finds  the  Kergouet  family  gath- 
ered round  Jim  at  the  hall  door,  giving  their  opin- 
ions, with  their  usual  vociferous  freedom,  upon  the 
points  and  paces  of  a  pony  which  is  being  looked 
at  with  a  view  to  the  reluctant  Louis  taking  his  first 
lessons  in  riding  upon  it.  Time  being  non-existent 
for  the  Kergouet  race,  no  one  expresses  surprise  at 
her  late  appearance. 

Little  Frank  runs  up  to  her.  "  Randal  is  gone!  " 
he  cries,  determined  to  proclaim  his  tidings  before 
any  other  member  of  his  family  can  get  ahead  of 
him,  and  with  all  that  family's  ease  in  the  handling 
of  Christian  names.  "  The  postman  brought  the 
news.    When  is  he  coming  back?  '* 

The  recipient  of  this  piece  of  news  is  tinglingly 
aware  of  a  sort  of  shivering  start  on  the  part  of  two 
members  of  the  group  at  this  abruptly  volleyed 
communication.  The  consciousness  gives  her  back 
her  composure.  She  puts  her  hand  kindly  on  the 
child's  head,  and,  looking  over  the  top  of  it  into 
two  terrified  pairs  of  eyes,  says  very  gently — • 

"  I  thmk-^ever! " 

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NEW    EDITIONS    IN     UNIFORM    BINDING 


WORKS  OF 

F-  Marion  Crawford 

i2mo.  Cloth,  each  75  cents,  postpaid 

VIA  CRUCIS  :  A   Romance  of  the  Second  Crusade. 

Illustrated  by  Louis  Ixjeb. 

Mr.  Crawford  has  manifestly  brought  his  best  qualities 

08  a  student  of  history,  and  his  finest  resources  as  a  master 

af  an  original  and  picturesque  style,  to  bear  upon  this  story. 

MR.   ISAACS  :  A  Tale  of  Modern  India. 

Under  an  unpretentious  title  we  have  here  one  of  the 
most  brilliant  novels  that  has  been  given  to  the  v^orld. 

THE  HEART  OF  ROME. 

The  legend  of  a  buried  treasure  under  the  walls  of  the 
palace  of  Conti,  known  to  but  few,  provides  the  frame- 
work for  many  exciting  incidents. 

SARACINESCA 

A  graphic  picture  of  Roman  society  in  the  last  days  of 
the  Pope's  temporal  power. 

SANT*  ILARIO  ;  A  Sequel  to  Saracinesca. 

A  singularly  powerful  and  beautiful  story,  fulfilling  every 
requirement    of  artistic    fiction. 

IN  THE  PALACE  OF  THE  KING:  A  Love  Story 
of  Old  Madrid.     Illustrated. 
The  imaginative  richness,  the  marvellous  ingenuity  of 
plot,  and  the  charm  of  romantic  environment,  rank  thi* 
novel  among  the  great  creations. 

GROSSET    &    DUNLAP,     Publishers 
11   East  i6th  Street      ::      ::      ::      NEW  YORK 


Brewster's    Millions 

BY 

GEORGE    BARR    McCUTCHEON 


^The  hero  is  a  young  New  Yorker  of  good  ptrts  who, 
to  save  an  inheritance  of  seven  millions,  starts  out  to 
spend  a  fortune  of  one  million  within  a  year.  An  eccen- 
tric uncle,  ignorant  of  the  earlier  legacy,  leaves  him 
seven  millions  to  be  delivered  at  the  expiration  of  a  year, 
on  the  condition  that  at  that  time  he  is  penniless,  and 
has  proven  himself  a  capable  business  man,  able  to 
manage  his  own  affairs.  The  problem  that  confronts 
Brewster  is  to  spend  his  legacy  without  proving  himself 
either  reckless  or  dissipated.  He  has  ideas  about  the  dis- 
position of  the  seven  millions  which  are  not  those  of  the 
uncle  when  he  tried  to  supply  an  alternative  in  case  the 
nephew  failed  him.  His  adventures  in  pursuit  of  poverty 
are  decidedly  of  an  unusual  kind,  and  his  disappoint- 
ments are  funny  in  quite  a  new  way.  The  situation  is 
developed  with  an  immense  amount  of  humor. 


OTHER  BOOKS  BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR: 
GRAUSTARK,  The  Story  of  a  Love  behind  a  Throne. 
CASTLE  CRANEYCROW.       THE  SHERRODS. 

Handsime  cUtb  hound  volumes,  75"  ctnU  each* 

At  all  Booksellers,  or  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  price  by 
the  Publishers. 

GROSSET  &  DUNLAP    ::    New  York 


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